The Ward
by tudor-rose445
Summary: AU.  After the death of Sir Thomas, his daughter Gwen becomes the ward of King Uther.  Her time with the Pendragons will forever leave an impact on her life and help to shape her into the queen of legend.  Part one of the "Once and Future" trilogy.
1. Prologue

An: This idea came to me not too long ago, and I was really too interested in it to leave it alone. This situation gave me the chance to mix in elements of the show along with the original legend and really, who couldn't resist? I would really appreciate any input you can give me on this. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC and Syfy own "Merlin".

Guinevere couldn't remember a time when her father didn't have a far off look in his eye whenever her mother was brought up. For the youngest child of Sir Tom and Lady Anice Thomas, this was a frustrating predicament. Being a five year old, there was nothing but excitement and happiness in her life and she expected everyone in the castle to follow suit. But every year on her birthday her father would become sullen and withdrawn, even to his own children. This clearly made no sense to her as her birthday was one of the best days of the year, and she thought that everyone else thought of it in the same way as she did. She had asked Elyan about her father's behavior but he had only ignored her, like he did for everything else involving her. She just chalked up her brother's behavior to his gender, and that all boys had mud for brains. Or at least, that was what Cook's daughter had told her.

She had wracked her mind the entire night to try to find a way to cheer up her father, and had only come across an answer long after her normal bedtime. Flowers! Who didn't love flowers? Fresh cut blossoms always made her feel better after a scraped knee or an argument with her brother. It was that idea that led to Gwen hesitating outside of her father's chamber door, clutching a bunch of wildflowers in one fist.

It had been easy enough to convince Batilda, her nurse, to accompany her on her little expedition, especially as it was her birthday. Batilda was her best friend, apart from Cook's daughter. But even Batilda wasn't privy to her little plan; this was between herself and her father.

She placed herself up onto the tips of her toes to knock her small fist against her father's door. She rearranged the flowers in her other hand before brushing back a stray curl as she heard the heavy scrape of the chair her father must have been sitting in. A second later the door opened, revealing a tired looking Sir Thomas. He stared blearily down at his youngest child before hastily dragging a hand over his eyes to wipe any traces of his fatigue from it.

"Gwen...what is it?" he asked, refocusing in on his child after he had rubbed his eyes. He knelt down onto his knees to be at her eye level.

She wordlessly smiled and thrust the bouquet into his face. "I've picked these for you!" she exclaimed, waving them under his nose for good effect. She was too caught up in her own excitement to see her father lean back slightly to avoid having flowers pelt him in the face. He found a shadow of a smile flit onto his face at the sight of his only daughter. "They're beautiful Guinevere, " he commented, patting her curls as she beamed at him.

"You seemed so sad today Papa... But these will help, won't they? Flowers always make me feel better." Her smile faltered as she continued to wait for her father's reaction. With a heavy sigh he lifted her into his arms, flowers and all, before retreating to his chambers. The young girl clutched tightly to him before nestling her head against his neck, as she often did when he held her.

"I'd like to tell you a story, Gwen. About a brave knight and a beautiful damsel...Would you like that?" He settled himself into his vacated chair by the fire before placing her on his lap. She nodded against his neck, settling in to listen to the story of Sir Thomas and the lovely Lady Anice.

Her young mind would often go back to that moment when she missed her father most. It was her own personal way to cope with her father's extended absences fighting for the King. Camelot, her father had explained, was the most noble kingdom in all of Albion. Whenever she complained about his absence he would remind her that his role as a knight to King Uther was one of the most coveted positions in the kingdom. Uther was the one who had bequeathed her father with his land and title. Uther was the reason that she and her family lived such an indulgent life compared to the farmers in their fields. The king trusted her father to such an extent that he had awarded Thomas the important position as border guard against King Cenred's kingdom. The family's castle rested not too far from the border, close enough that her father could put down any small invasion.

Elyan was just as obsessed with knighthood as her father was. When Gwen turned eight her brother became a page in service to their father. It was the first step toward knighthood and at thirteen, Elyan felt himself more than ready. Gwen, for her part, hated this new set up. Now in addition to not seeing her father often, she was left without her brother. She found herself actually missing him from time to time, which she found odd as she was normally hoping that he would just leave her alone. He never wanted to play with her or go for walks in the gardens...he was useless.

Never had she thought of her father and brother being in actual danger. It simply hadn't crossed her mind. The two of them looked so brave and strong setting out that February morning that she had simply assumed them to return the same way in a few weeks time.

It was a mere week and a half later that she was woken in the early hours of the morning by Batilda. Blearily the young girl wiped at her eyes before attempting to burrow farther into her assortment of blankets. Batilda must have gotten the time mixed up...it was much too early to waken now. Again she was accosted by her nurse's shaking hands.

"My lady! Please, you must dress now!"

The urgent tone in the older woman's voice caused Gwen to sit up sharply. She blinked a few times to adjust her eyesight in the dimly lit room.

"What tis' it Batilda?" she murmured, reaching up with both fists to rub the remnants of sleep from her eyes. The nurse assisted her out of the bed before quickly pulling a gown over her sleeping shift. "There is no time for explanations, my lady," the woman insisted as she laced Gwen into her gown. She haphazardly placed a cloak over her charge's shoulders before tying back the girl's curls with a ribbon.

A feeling of dread entered her heart.

"What happened?" she repeated, growing angry that the woman was not telling her. Obviously it was important by her nurse's actions. She could hear heavy footsteps thundering up and down the hall along with worried voices. She slipped into her shoes as she watched Batilda run around the room, placing various objects into a satchel. Without a word she grabbed the girl's hand and began to hurry into the hallway.

She had seemingly stepped into a different world. The corridor was crowded with servants rushing back and forth, some with tears streaming from their eyes. An anguished cry of a woman resounded across the stone walls causing Gwen to shudder. Batilda tugged her along as the two dodged running servants and agitated looking guards. Guinevere seemed unable to shut out the scared voices and running footsteps as the very world around her seemed to slide into doomsday.

She was raised into the air by a pair of strong hands suddenly, causing her to cry out in alarm. It was only when she recognized the face as one of her father's guards did she calm somewhat. The man knocked aside a half open door to expose the courtyard. Already members of her father's guard were mounted on their horses, a few with their swords out. She was placed into another guard's arms, although this one was already astride his horse. Without a word the group began to exit the courtyard, clattering over the drawbridge before taking off at a gallop toward the western wood. With wide eyes she watched as a troop of her father's men forged their way through the forest path, guided only by the light of the moon and a few torches.

It was only now that she found her voice.

She craned her neck to see who exactly she was sitting in front of, recognizing it to be Gregory. She had known this particular guard since her birth and had heard on more than one occasion that had Gregory been born into the nobility, her father would have taken him on as his own page. "Where are we going? What has happened?" she asked, her voice sounding small in the night air. She found tears beginning to pool in her eyes. Where was Batilda? Elyan?

"Where is my father?"

She heard the guard let out a long breath.

"I'm so sorry milady," was all he answered as he spurred their horse onward.

It was hours later that the small group stopped beside a stream for a few moments of rest. Batilda was there to greet her, having rode farther behind the group. And it was there as her nurse bathed her charge's face that she found out that both her father and brother were dead.

She was no longer safe without them.

She was to be transported to Camelot, to become a ward of the King.


	2. Chapter 1

AN: Thank you to all that have reviewed. Your comments mean a lot to me.

I'm trying a new strategy of writing additional chapters ahead of time and having them beta-ed. The lovely Guardian Izz has agreed to help. I think you should all go check out her work; she is a very good writer. And she has the patience of a saint, since she has to put up with all my emails. :P

Dislcaimer: I own nothing. "Merlin" belongs to BBC.

A jolt ran through her legs as her feet finally touched the ground. Hours of riding had left her feeling stiff and tired; it was no wonder her muscles wished to fall apart now that she was standing. She held onto Gregory's arms even after he placed her on the ground to help steady herself. Though they had stopped at an inn for the night, two days of sitting on a horse had tired her out. She squinted against the sun, which had risen quite some time ago, to look over the foreign courtyard. A few servants milling by on their errands caught her attention as they paused to indiscreetly eye the group. It was neither them nor the rest of her party dismounting their steeds, who caught her attention. Instead her small eyes focused on the high turrets and expansive walls of the castle. The building looked massive compared to the rather homey feeling of her family's estate. She only looked back down once she felt Batilda tugging at her hand.

"Come, milady. The Queen wishes for you to call upon her first."

The warm, comforting hand on her nurse encased Gwen's smaller one. She clung to it tightly, too afraid to know what would happen if she were separated from the woman once more. Batilda had been with her since her birth after her mother's death. She had only been told in recent years how her mother had died after complications during Guinevere's birth. At the age of five when Gwen had pondered over her father's behavior on her birthday she would have been unable to understand the instances of her mother's death. But this past year it had been explained to her by her dear Batilda after Gwen had badgered her about it the entire month preceding her birthday. Batilda was, for all purposes, the mother she had been denied.

Guinevere felt herself pale at the very mention of a meeting with the queen. She had always begged her father after his return from Camelot's tournaments to tell her every detail of the proceedings, or at least, the _court_ proceedings. She didn't care very much about who won the joust or which knight proved victorious in the arena. It was court life with its dazzling queen at the center of it that intrigued her. Queen Igraine was known all over Camelot as being the epitome of all that a queen should be. She was said to be very beautiful and fair looking; there was no question as to why she had caught Uther's eye. She was gentle and a mother to her people, frequently giving alms to those in the lower town after Sunday mass. To become a lady-in-waiting to the queen was a position sought after by many young noblewomen in the kingdom.

To meet this fairytale like woman set Guinevere's heart racing. What if she didn't like Gwen? What if she thought that the girl in her wrinkled dress with tear-strewn cheeks wasn't worthy of being raised alongside her children? There was little time for Gwen to considers the 'what ifs' of her situation as she and Batilda were soon being led into the castle by guards wearing the arms of Camelot. Gregory was the only member of her father's guard to follow the pair, keeping a step or two behind the ladies.

The hall they finally paused at was eerily quiet, despite the hour. By the rumbling in Gwen's stomach she could guess the time to be not long after breakfast. She should have been eating her morning porridge by now before going down to her father's rooms to greet him and Elyan... Out of nowhere her vision became blurry as tears invaded her eyes; they were hastily halted by her hand, as she tried to compose herself. She couldn't see the queen like this.

One of the Camelot guards knocked on the door to the queen's chambers, followed by a feminine face peeping out a few moments later. The woman opened the door wider to admit the nurse and her charge into the regally decorated sitting room. Gwen tightened her grip on Batilda's hand as she observed the group of noblewomen hastily moving about the room. Two were clearing away the queen's breakfast dishes while another was gathering up the woman's discarded night shift. A maid was on hand to collect the laundry and dishes from the women before discreetly exiting. In the middle of the hubbub sat a smiling, blond haired woman.

Gwen felt her breath catch in her throat as she locked eyes with the queen, slowly dropping Batilda's hand. The stories she had heard of Uther's queen didn't do the woman justice. She looked every bit the fairytale princess that Gwen had imagined. Slowly the woman stood up from the empty table before her to welcome the girl. With a start Gwen realized that Batilda was curtseying, and that she should follow suit. Hurriedly she dipped into a curtsey, mentally thanking Batilda for enforcing etiquette lessons since she had been old enough to comprehend them. She remained in this position, unable to lift her gaze from the queen's hem.

Finally the woman spoke.

"Arise, dear. Both you and your nurse are welcome here."

Slowly Gwen stood back up, dragging her eyes to meet the smiling ones of the queen. The woman took a few steps toward her before gently taking Gwen's hands into hers. "I am Queen Igraine, my dear, and I am so glad to have you join us," the woman said, gently squeezing Guinevere's hands. "Although I wish that it were under different circumstances." The woman's face fell into a small frown. "I am terribly sorry about your family, my child. I hope, that in time, you will view my family as your own."

Again the dazzling smile appeared on the queen's face. "But you must be hungry, dear. Aren't you?"

Gwen finally found it in herself to nod slowly, wondering if the queen had heard her grumbling stomach throughout her greeting. The queen led her to the empty table before carefully pulling aside a chair for her. The girl murmured a 'thank you' before taking her seat. The woman pushed her closer to the table before nodding toward one of the ladies. The servant quickly exited the room before returning with a tray of food. Gwen's eyes widened at the very sight of it. She had had only a few meager meals over the past two days and the very thought of having an actual breakfast seemed to be a treat.

The noblewomen placed two dishes before Gwen as the queen took a seat across from her. One plate contained a few sausages along with two rolls that emitted steam once Gwen broke them open. The other plate held an array of fruits that looked so refreshing the girl had a hard choice of what to eat first. She hesitated, as if afraid of making a mistake concerning table etiquette. She was put at ease once the queen laughed.

"Eat, Guinevere; you must be starving."

She ate her fill of the food before drinking nearly an entire goblet of milk.

The queen watched her silently throughout the entire meal, but her observation didn't make Gwen feel nervous at all. The woman seemed to radiate a maternal air without even trying.

After a maid cleared away the dishes the queen rose again.

"Your chamber has been prepared by now, dear. I'm afraid that we don't have much clothing for you yet. Once my husband sends men to secure your estate once more we will be able to bring your things here. But for now, dear, we can lend you one of my daughter's dresses. She is only a year older than you, so it should fit you well." Again the woman took up Gwen's hand. "I'll show you the way; you'll be in the same wing as my children. You'll meet them both along with my husband at the midday meal."

Gwen quickly looked over her shoulder as she was led out of the room to ensure that Batilda was following before turning her attention to the path they began to trace through the castle's corridors. As servants passed they paused to either bow or curtsey to the pair, and Igraine acknowledged them each with a small smile.

She turned down a final corridor before coming to stop outside a door.

"This will be yours, Guinevere. If there is anything that you need, you must ask me. Don't be afraid to ask anything of me." She knelt down to eye level with the girl, surprising Gwen greatly. The surprise must have registered on the girl's face, as the queen laughed gently before embracing her. Gwen found her own arms wrapping around the queen, relishing in the feeling of being comforted. Finally the queen withdrew enough to look at Gwen, cupping the girl's cheek in her hand.

"I'm sure we will be good friends, Guinevere. Everything will be alright now." She smiled once more before starting off down the hall, leaving nurse and charge alone again.

Gwen turned to her long-time friend, a small smile flitting across her face. The woman patted her head before leading her into the room.

The chamber was much bigger than the one she had had back home. This room, much like the queen's, held a sitting room that opened up to her actual bedchamber. The sight of a bed made Gwen realize exactly how tired she was. Without being asked Batilda helped her over to it before unlacing Gwen's gown. She held her charge climb up onto the mattress before tucking her in.

"Sleep, Gwen," the woman whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed to gently stroke Gwen's brow. It didn't take long for the girl to fall into what would be a fitful sleep.

A few hours later Guinevere awoke to find Batilda frowning above her. She held a damp rag in her head as she carefully wiped at the sweat on Gwen's brow. "You were having dreams, love. Nightmares it seemed," she informed the girl quietly as she helped Gwen sit up. The girl shivered as the images of the dreams came flooding back to her.

Her father, her brother...their blood everywhere...

She choked on a sob as she clutched at her nurse, allowing the woman to comfort her in an effort to chase the images away.

**oOoOo**

Midday rolled around faster than she wished it to. Her short nap had done nothing to curb her fatigue, and her nightmares had only made it worse. After helping her charge freshen up Batilda brushed out Gwen's curls before pining them back. The gown - a blue velvet number with intricate silver embroidery, fit just as well as her other dresses back in her own clothes press. Gwen's heart jumped in her chest as a knock resounded on her chamber door. Quickly Batilda went to it, admitting a guard a moment later.

He bowed carefully toward her before speaking. "The King and Queen request that you join them for their midday meal, milady." He straightened up, taking her nod as accepting the invitation. He began to walk out of the room, Gwen and her nurse following him so as to not become lost in the maze of the corridors.

She kept her gaze focused ahead of her the entire walk in order to try calm herself. Meeting the queen had been stressful, but meeting the king would be even harder. Not to mention facing his children for the first time. They were to be companions and she would hate for them not to get along.

Two guards posted outside the door that they stopped at admitted them before silently exiting. Batilda gently prodded her forward before taking a step back out into the hallway.

For the first time since their hurried flight on horseback two days earlier Gwen was without her caretaker. She held her head a bit higher in an attempt to hide her fear before taking a few steps toward the waiting royal family. She curtsied carefully, pausing before the king and queen.

"Your Majesties," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She kept in her position until the king himself rested a hand on her shoulder for her to rise.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, finding a warm smile gracing his face.

"Welcome, Lady Guinevere," he began. "On behalf of my family we are quite glad that you have joined us." He held his hand out to his wife, who readily took it to stand before Gwen. His voice dropped a bit lower as he took on a solemn tone. "Word was sent to me as soon as the battle happened. I am terribly sorry about your father and brother. Your father's body is being sent to burial as we speak; he will be given all the honors a knight of his caliber deserves."

"Thank you, your majesty," she said, finding her throat tight with unshed tears. At least now her father would be put to rest with her mother. She wondered idly if the two were together at this very moment. Is that how the afterlife worked?

The king gently patted her shoulder before the queen beckoned over two children. Gwen quickly tried to compose herself as the two children stared at her curiously. The young girl looked to be about her age, which must make her the owner of the dress she was currently wearing. A bright smile broke out onto the princess' face at the sight of a new playmate. The boy didn't seem that interested at all and, at the sight of Gwen's thinly veiled sadness, he appeared to be bored of the entire event.

"These are our children: Prince Arthur and Princess Morgana," Uther went on, nodding to each child. "You three will become fast friends, I am sure."

Gwen felt a small smile come to her face by the inviting behavior of the other girl. She had only had one other female child to play with back home and that had been Cook's daughter. To have another would be fun, especially as they were so close in age.

The boy, Arthur, seemed a bit haughty on first glance. Anyway, boys were boring. He was probably just like Elyan and spoke only of knighthood whenever he could. She inwardly rolled her eyes, but at the thought of her brother she felt a pang in her chest. Carefully she had thought back on what the king had told her of her father's immanent burial. Why had he not mentioned her brother?

She had no chance to ask as the queen began leading her toward the table for their meal. She listened quietly to their chatter as she ate, taking in bits and pieces of their personalities throughout the meal. Morgana went on about a new piece of embroidery she had started, while Arthur updated his father on his fighting progress. It was clear to Gwen that the king and queen adored both their children. Gwen felt like an intruder for most of the meal before the pair began to ask her questions. What did she like doing? How was her embroidery? Did she like to ride?

At the end of the meal she felt a bit more comfortable and didn't feel as nervous curtseying to the royal couple before they took their leave of the children. As soon as her parents exited Morgana was at Gwen's side.

"I'm Morgana!" the dark haired girl introduced herself, omitting her title. Gwen visibly jumped at the sudden appearance, while the princess gestured down to the dress that Gwen was wearing. "Do you like it? Mother had it made for me last year."

Gwen nodded, finally speaking, "I do...it's very beautiful."

Morgana beamed. "You can borrow it for as long as you want. I can wear something else. You should see-"

Her rant on dresses was cut off by the exasperated sigh of her older brother.

"Really Morgana? I doubt the poor girl wants to hear about your entire wardrobe."

Arthur rolled his eyes before stopping a few feet short of them.

His sister gave him a disgruntled face before lacing Gwen's arm with her own.

"Don't pay Arthur any mind," the princess began, making sure to speak loudly enough for Arthur to hear. "He's just a dung-head is all." She stuck her tongue out at him in a very un-princess-like fashion.

Gwen could see that slowly Arthur was getting riled up. "It's no wonder why your betrothal with the Prince of Mercia fell through, Morgana," he started, relishing in the annoyed look growing on his sister's face. The eleven year old boy's face was clearly flaunting a smirk. "After all, who'd want to marry a toad?"

Had Gwen not been paying attention, she might have not been able to grab Morgana about the waist in time to avoid her attacking her brother. She held the other girl back as Arthur laughed. Gwen felt her skin begin to bristle at his teasing.

"Whoever this prince is, he probably isn't as much of a bully as you are!"

Morgana stopped squirming, turning with wide eyes to look at Gwen. Arthur, for his part, looked surprised that this eight year old stranger had called him out on his behavior. For a beat or two there was silence in the room, and Gwen was afraid that she had gone too far.

Morgana's laughter cut the tension as she resumed her arm in arm position with her new friend.

"You had best watch out, brother," she taunted as she started to walk toward the door with Gwen in tow. "You've got two of us to tease you now." She laughed again before the two new friends exited into the hall.

Arthur frowned as he watched them, unsure of what to think of this new girl.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to all that have reviewed. :) As of now I have quite a few chapters lined up for this, and a plan for a trilogy. I hope you enjoy it!

Betad by the wonderful Guardian Izz. While you're waiting for the next chapter you should check out her work.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".

Day by day, slowly Guinevere settled into her new life and the daily routines that came with it. Each morning she would rise and dress with Batilda's help. After being prepared for the day she would accompany the royal family to mass held by the elderly bishop. Gwen found this morning ritual to be rather peaceful. Halfway through the service she would finally be able to blink all of the remaining fatigue from her mind. She hadn't been sleeping much due to her nightmares and Batilda hadn't been able to do much to ease her charge, hoping that time would heal the mental wounds. Though she was beginning to have doubts.

She tried to stay quiet through the entire service and not to fidget, but it proved easier said than done. There were hallways for her to explore, gardens for her to run through; her little legs were itching to explore them all. The royal children for their part were rather well behaved. Morgana never uttered a word but could be seen to shift her knees from time to time. Arthur was more obvious in his movements; it was clear that he wanted to run out to the training field, yet one glance from Igraine caused all three children to sit up a bit straighter.

Gwen enjoyed observing the queen at moments such as these. With her serene face inclined down to her folded hands, she was the image of piety. Gwen would sneak glances at her from time to time to attempt to mimic her. She was so intent on forming herself after Igraine that she failed to notice the small smiles flickering on the woman's face at being mimed.

After mass the children would retreat to their own chambers with their breakfast. After finishing her meal Gwen would accompany Morgana to Igraine's chambers where the queen would oftentimes go over her daily lesson with them. Although the two young girls had nowhere near the education that Arthur had received, they did know how to read and write. Igraine would often expand on these skills with them before then moving onto their stitch work. Gwen found herself enjoying the praise received from the queen over her stitches, although Morgana more often than not threw down her embroidery hoop with a huff of frustration.

The midday meal was a family affair. Each child updated the king and queen on their morning activities before returning to their lessons. Arthur would go to his tutor while the two young girls would continue their etiquette lessons. Then, twice a week around two in the afternoon the girls would join Arthur on the training grounds. Much to Gwen's surprise Uther insisted on Morgana knowing how to defend herself. Now that Gwen had arrived, she too was included in the lessons. She was normally given free time after this, which often included Morgana.

She took her evening meal with the family where plans for the days to come were discussed, and then each member took their leave for the night. On occasion little Guinevere would attend vespers with the queen at the chapel, but lately she had been missing the service in order to get a head start on that night's sleep. It took her longer than ever to fall asleep as she knew once her eyes closed she would see her father and brother, bleeding lifeless upon the battlefield. After a night of broken sleep and tears the cycle would start over again.

A few weeks after her arrival Batilda had finally reached her wit's end. Without Gwen's knowledge the nurse had chosen to bring the child to see the court physician. It pained the woman to see her young girl struggle with something so upsetting at such a tender age.

Instead of accompanying Gwen back to her chambers Batilda steered the little lady down a different corridor after the midday meal. Gwen opened her mouth to question the woman but was silenced as they paused beside an open door. A white haired man stood inside of it surrounded by a table full of vials and various other glasses. Random piles of books littered the room along with other strange objects, some that Gwen had never seen before. Had she not been schooled in proper behavior of a noble lady she might have run about the chamber to explore it and the oddities it contained.

She was broken from her reverie by Batilda gently squeezing her shoulder.

"This is Gaius, milady" the woman began, gesturing to the now smiling old man. "He is the court physician."

Guinevere felt herself pale at the word. She had hated going to the physician's ever since she could remember. She had often gone at lengths to keep Batilda or her father from noticing a slight cough she had developed or a sore leg from a fall. Back in Cameliard their physician with his ill-tasting potions and rough grip had always terrified her. It was now quite obvious that Batilda's hand on her shoulder was placed there for more than just comfort, serving as a precaution to keep Gwen from bolting out of the room.

Gaius paused before her, lowering himself slightly to be on her level. "I am honored to meet you, milady," he said, smiling softly.

She noted that he seemed almost grandfatherly and not at all like her father's old physician. She blushed slightly before nodding her head in thanks.

He made to stand up, taking a moment longer than perhaps the king or any of the guards would. It only struck her then that such a position on his older limbs must have been rather uncomfortable, yet he had chosen to greet her on her own level despite that.

"What seems to be the problem, lady Guinevere?"

Batilda gently prodded her forward.

"I...I can't sleep," she managed to get out, looking around with a rather embarrassed expression written across her face. The whole situation was embarrassing after all; even babies could fall asleep by themselves. They didn't need potions to fall asleep.

Discretely, Batilda mouthed the word 'nightmares' over her head. Gaius wordlessly nodded before taking Gwen's small hand in his larger one.

"I'll have a remedy for you before the day is out, milady. You have my word."

And she didn't doubt him in the least.

O0O0O0

That afternoon Gwen and Morgana joined Arthur for their sword-fighting lessons. The idea of using a sword hadn't interested Gwen in the slightest at first, but after her first lesson she had quickly changed her opinion. The feeling of the metal in her hands, the song that it seemed to emit as it sliced through the air … she could finally understand her brother's love of it now. She had only been permitted a swing or two with an actual sword on her first day, just to feel what it would be like. Her instructor, the 21 year old sword fighting prodigy Sir Leon, allowed her only to practice with a broomstick at first. He had explained his concern for her safety, although Gwen had managed to tune him out once he mentioned that she wasn't to pick up a real sword for some time. It made her all the more dedicated to master the movements now with the broomstick so that she would be able to pick up an actual sword again.

Morgana, having had a full years training already, was allowed to use an actual sword. Gwen hid her jealousy as best as she could although she was rather sure her new friend knew exactly how she felt. Arthur, for his part, wasn't as subtle. He made a show of taking his sword from his scabbard on a number of occasions just to rile the brown-eyed girl up.

Sir Leon often sparred with her with a broomstick of his own to help her, but most times he pitted her against Morgana. At first Gwen had failed miserably, but as time went, day by day she had gained ground and more confidence. It was only earlier that very week that she had managed to knock the broomstick from her new friend's hand, much to the delight of their teacher.

This particular lesson pitted Morgana and Gwen against each other again. The prince watched them lazily, leaning against one of the posts of the training ground fence. He laughed out loud as Morgana nearly was 'cut' by Gwen's broomstick.

"She's new to this, sister … I'd think you with a year worth of lessons could hold your own ground against a novice."

The ridicule in his voice caused both girls' anger to simmer.

"Jab right! Dodge left! Morgana move!"

Morgana threw down her broomstick in annoyance, startling Gwen in the process, before stalking over to her brother: "If you think you can do a better job, you spar with her!" came his sister's retort as she pushed him aside.

Arthur glanced over at Sir Leon for approval, catching the man's reluctant nod, before picking up his sister's discarded broomstick.

"I would ask you to be...delicate, your highness," the knight suggested, watching his youngest pupil with a thinly veiled anxious expression.

Arthur laughed as he took up a fighting stance.

"There's no need to worry; she'll be on the ground in a moment anyway."

His comment made the young girl's face flame with annoyance. How dare he? She almost didn't react in time to his first jab due to her seething. She dodged it in time, noticing that he was clearly slowing himself down because of her. In response she directed a quick prod toward him causing him to quickly step back.

For a moment surprise registered on his smug face before it was quickly wiped away.

He picked up the pace, which caused Gwen to take a few hurried steps back as she attempted to parry his blows. It only took a few more stabs for him to knock her over with his broomstick. She felt to the dirt with a thud, glancing up at him as he flexed the broomstick in his hand. He turned his head to Sir Leon, smiling smugly.

"See? What'd I tell you?"

He moved to walk back to Morgana when Gwen seized her chance and quickly stuck her foot out in front of his, watching as the unsuspecting arrogant prince tripped straight into a pool of mud. She stood up quickly, jumping up onto his back to keep him down before resting the edge of her broomstick against the back of his neck.

"Now who's in the dirt?"

The prince beneath her was uncharacteristically silent as Gwen basked in Sir Leon's praise and Morgana's enthusiastic clapping.

Leon tried to withhold a laugh as he helped Gwen stand, allowing Arthur to pick himself up.

"You must always be vigilant, Prince Arthur. Just because a man is down doesn't mean he isn't still able to attack you," Sir Leon instructed as his eldest pupil dusted off his jacket with a pout.

Morgana came to stand beside Guinevere, grinning at her friend's victory over her big brother. Arthur allowed his broomstick to hit the ground, giving Guinevere a blank look.

He said: "You fight alright … for a girl", as if the very words pained him.

Gwen thought that he should humble himself more often. He didn't seem as much of a prat when he did.

**o0o0o0o**

That night, for the first time in weeks, Guinevere managed to sleep through the night without any nightmares to torment her. Instead of seeing her father and brother mangled, she saw herself triumphing over the same cocky prince sleeping a few doors down.

It would take time, but she was starting to like this place.


	4. Chapter 3

An: Thank you all for your kind reviews!

This chapter and the next really push the story along, as a major plot point of the series is starting to be adressed. :P Hint hint...it has something to do with what Uther despises.

Thanks again to the wonderful Guardian Izz for beta-ing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".

The beginning of June brought along a change with it for the three children. Upon Arthur's twelfth birthday it was decided that he was to be finally "released" from the children's wing and move into his private chambers reserved for the heir of Camelot on the opposite side of the castle. Morgana exclaimed to all that would hear her that this change of arrangements was indeed for the best; she didn't wish to see the court ladies mooning over Arthur all the time now that he was getting closer to marriageable age. As an added bonus she was now even further away from her brother.

Gwen, for her part, was glad that she wouldn't have to hear Arthur running up and down the hall wearing his new chain mail and armor anymore. It was terribly noisy, in the quite mornings more so.

Over the two months since her arrival Guinevere and Morgana had grown closer, now sharing a companionship as if they had known each other their entire lives. Gwen no longer had to lament the fact that she didn't have a sister.

The princess on her part enjoyed spending time with her new friend and often went out of her way to 'protect' her as a 'big sister' should. Even though there was only a year's difference between their ages Morgana felt that she was the worldlier one out of the two, thus making it her responsibility to look out for Gwen among the courtly gossips.

It was she who had explained the royal progress to Gwen.

"It takes about a month," the princess said, glancing over at Gwen as the two were fitted for new gowns. Even though the rest of Gwen's belongings had arrived weeks earlier, the queen had decided that both girls needed a new riding dress each for that summer's journey. Igraine stood by, commenting on the cloth or the seamstress' basting from time to time. The dark haired girl raised her arm for the seamstress to wrap the cloth under her.

"We take a tour round the kingdom giving Father a chance to oversee the order in his lands. As we go along we normally stop by the estates of the feudal lords, governing over the neighbouring villages." She frowned. "Father's never let me or Arthur come along till now. I wish we had... that way we might have already met you long ago."

Gwen had never witnessed her estate being prepared for a royal visit. Often her father was one of the king's accompanying knights, meaning that his estate was not listed on King Uther's route. She lamented the fact that she could have met her friend earlier had the king chosen to stop by in the bast.

The field trip seemed to be the talk of the day. At the midday meal Uther explained the route to the children after much badgering by his son. They would leave the citadel and travel west toward the border of the Summer County. They would first visit the home of Count Aldwulf before moving north to the estate of Baron Galfridus. The names and the titles soon turned into a blur for the little ward, as all she could concentrate on was the spectacular adventure that she felt was just around the corner. It was a difficult task, not to skip down the halls or jump up and down in her seat – jittery. She couldn't conceal her excitement at vespers that evening with Igraine, but the queen was too amused by her ward's enthusiasm to scold her.

The three children waited with bated breath over the next two weeks for the much anticipated day to arrive. Gwen was woken early one morning about a week prior to their expected departure by Batilda quickly packing up her gowns. With a chill she was reminded of the almost exact situation a few months earlier. Who had died? What had happened?

But once she calmed herself she realized that there was no screaming or crying in the halls or servants rushing about like last time. She inwardly chastised herself for jumping to such conclusions. Batilda pulled her charge's new riding gown from the child's clothes-press before gesturing her to the changing screen.

Gwen frowned.

"The Queen was saving that for Progress," she protested, nevertheless climbing out of bed to follow the older woman.

"And it would be fitting, as you are leaving on Progress today, dear Gwen" the nurse countered, chuckling in a somewhat forced manner. Too tired to pick up on the hidden paranoia in the woman's tone, Gwen reluctantly allowed herself to be laced into the gown. The nurse first pulled a fresh, white shift over her charge's head before helping her into a dark blue surcoat. This was then laced across Gwen's chest and finished off with a small bow.

It wasn't the most elaborate gown out of Gwen's wardrobe, but the queen had insisted that neither Gwen nor Morgana wore their best gowns when riding. The roads were much too dry this time of year, and the dust flying through the air would only damage the fabric. She quickly ate a slice of bread and cheese to break her fast as Batilda braided her hair. Batilda would give no reason as to why the progress was suddenly pushed forward except that the king had willed it.

Nearly twenty minutes later the pair appeared in the courtyard, followed by two servants carrying a trunk of Gwen's things. Morgana, looking rather bleary eyed, was already mounted on her own horse. Gwen craned her neck to spot the queen, but did not catch sight of Igraine or Uther.

"Do you need help?"

Gwen blinked a few times, realizing that Arthur was speaking to her. He looked rather pale, but she supposed that this rather early hour was to blame. She nodded, watching as one of the grooms brought over her gray mare. Arthur held the horse steady as he cupped his hand. Gwen reached up, placing one slender hand on each end of the saddle. She placed one foot into Arthur's proffered hands before balancing herself as he raised her up. Once settled she looked down at the boy, noticing again how tired he seemed.

"Thank you," she said, a little surprised by his actions. He had never been outright mean to her, but he had never gone out of his way to show gentile kindness with her either. The prince nodded absentmindedly before patting her mare's neck.

"You," he said, catching the attention of the stable boy holding his own horse. The prince moved on to his own steed, reaching to adjust the stirrups.

Suddenly he yelped, catching Gwen and Morgana's attention as he angrily rubbed at his elbow.

"Bloody horse," he murmured, glaring at the animal before inspecting his now chewed-on sleeve.

"There are ladies present, Arthur," admonished his mother as she strode into the courtyard. Her husband was not far behind her and personally helped his wife into the saddle before leading the group over the drawbridge.

The lower town was still quiet at this unsightly hour of the morning. The only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the supply carts and the clopping of the horses' hooves against the ground. Gwen glanced behind her horse at the group bringing up the rear of the small party. Batilda, no doubt somewhere among the dozen or so servants trailing behind with the supplies. On every side of the party a knight clad in the arms of Camelot rode alongside the group. She knew traveling was not the safest event, and was glad for the armed men that rode with them.

To her surprise the king set them off at a rather fast pace. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it, but she did wonder as for the cause. Wasn't this supposed to be a trip of leisure? She would have thought that they would have gone rather slow, especially now that they had left days early. Morgana looked just as puzzled by this yet both girls knew better than to question either the king or queen about it.

The party had covered a substantial amount of ground by the time they stopped around midday. Gregory, now part of Uther's vast guard, was there to assist her off of her horse. Out of all of her father's staff the only two people to be absorbed into Uther's household had been Gregory and Batilda. The nurse was chosen because of her connection to the young ward, while Gregory had proved his courage and loyalty for his deceased master by escorting his only living child into safety.

She smiled slightly at the familiar face before following the queen and Morgana, hand in hand. The servants were unpacking provisions for the midday meal while Igraine led both girls over to a boulder not too far from their little camp. A servant spread a thick blanket on the grassy floor to allow the two young girls to sit at Igraine's feet.

"As we were not able to hear mass this morning, we shall read additional passages today to make up for it," the woman explained to the two girls. "Just because we are on road doesn't mean that we shall shirk your lessons ladies." Both girls hid their disappointment and instead readied themselves to listen to the woman next to them as she turned her gentle gaze onto Gwen.

"Would you please retrieve my Bible from my saddlebag, Guinevere?"

The girl curtsied carefully, nodding before winding her way between servants and knights to the cluster of horses. She picked out the queen's mare easily before unlatching the leather tooled bag. A pair of servants currently loosening the girths of the nearby steeds were whispering back and forth and, _try as she might_, it was difficult to ignore them.

"Sick as a dog," the nearest said quietly, shaking his head forlornly. "Lad couldn't even stand up. I've never seen a man so ill in my life." He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was near, causing Gwen to step a bit further back – the queens mare blocking her from his vision.

"And the swelling!" She heard the exhale of his fellow man. "He was dead within the week."

She shuddered even though she didn't know the exact context of their conversation.

"I heard they've already closed Ectorial to any travelers. Me and Percy just got out in time."

Gwen peeped under the neck of the mare to sneak a glance at the two men.

"The King didn't find out too long after I 'spect. No wonder we basically tore out of the citadel at dawn." The man's voice grew cynical. "As if you can run from the Plague."

Gwen's head darted back behind the horse as she repeated the word in her mind. The Plague? Her delicate hands fumbled with the small latch on the saddle bag. She had heard of the disease but had thankfully never seen it firsthand. To see it is to risk contamination; the two men should be lucky that they got away with their lives.

She fished the book out of the bag before latching it back. Eager to put such worrying thoughts behind her she took off at a rather fast, unladylike stride to reach the queen, who gave her a slightly perplexed glance as to why Gwen had taken so long, but didn't comment on her ward's behavior before starting that day's lessons.

0o0o0o0

After stopping at Sir Aldwulf's estate for three days the party took off again. Both young girls found the first stop on their supposedly exciting trip to be rather boring. Sir Aldwulf looked as old as the bishop that presided over mass back in the royal chapel, and his equally elderly wife had no patience for anyone under the age of thirty. Arthur had gotten rather good at imitating the woman's grating voice and delighted in sneaking up behind Guinevere admonishing her much like the elderly lady. Morgana found this rather amusing, unlike Gwen. Not only did Arthur cause her to jump every single time he performed his mime, but some of the knights had caught onto his new found talent and laughed whenever he did it. It made Gwen's face burn to hear the men laughing. Though it wasn't necessarily _at_ her and was due something that was done _to_ her, it hurt just the same as if they had been teasing her.

The morning that they departed from the elderly couple's estate was the first sunny day since their arrival. The earth felt springy against her boots as she was helped down from her horse that evening. After pausing to speak to Batilda, she moved to follow Igraine and Morgana to tidy themselves up before their meal.

Servants were carefully constructing billowing tents for the party to sleep in.

"Stand up straight girl! You've got the posture of a milkmaid!" Gwen flinched at the creaky voice coming from just behind her right ear.

The prince's laughter seemed to reverberate in her head as he fell into step beside her.

"You'd think you would be able to expect that by now," he teased, stepping in front of her to halt his victim. He seemed rather pleased with his imitation of the older lady.

Gwen stopped short to avoid crashing into him. Didn't he have something better to do? Knowing that the best thing to do was to ignore him, the girl chose to step aside, past him.

Yet again the arrogant prince placed himself in her path.

"I'm speaking to you, Guinevere," he said, _drawing_ out her name. He, along with Morgana, most often addressed her by 'Gwen' when in informal company. The use of her full name, and in such a tone, visibly surprised her.

He laughed at the emotion flicking across her face. "I know full well that you know how to speak," he chided her. "Your Prince commands you." He stood up a bit taller, fixing her with a rather haughty look.

Gwen rolled her eyes before brushing her shoulder against him in an attempt to get him to move. He narrowed his eyes before pushing her back with his own.

"Move," she ordered, locking eyes with him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, sending out a clear message that he wasn't going to budge. His haughty expression was soon wiped off his face as he quickly shuffled his feet to keep himself upright. Both of them looked down, focusing on Gwen's extended arms, still frozen from where she had pushed him. He curled his lip before reaching forward to push her right back.

Stumbling, the girl landed on her rear on the mushy ground.

The prince started to laugh, attracting attention from the servants just finishing with the tents. Feeling her face turn bright red from his ridicule Gwen lunged forward, tackling the prince down with her. The two landed back in the mud with Gwen pummeling her fists against his chest. Had she been thinking rationally she would have pondered why Arthur had been so easy to tackle; he was a trained fighter; a lunge from an eight year old shouldn't have taken him down.

His hands felt clammy as they wrapped around her petite wrists in an effort to stop her. He rolled them over as the two struggled.

"Arthur! Guinevere!"

The two froze, looking up at Igraine with wide eyes. A small audience was now conspicuously watching the admonishment of the children.

"Consider yourselves lucky that it was I and not The King who witnessed your intolerable behavior," the queen chided, staring at each child in turn. The two now looked anywhere but the queen's face, unable to face their shame.

"I think it best that you both retire to your quarters for the evening while I consider your punishment."

Gwen felt herself pale. Punishment? Father had tapped her once or twice when she had been younger and done something to upset him. But out of the two children Elyan was more prone to being disciplined. Panic ran through her. Would the queen order her to be beaten? Her father had been tolerant toward her but she knew that administering a switch on an errant child was common enough.

With tear filled eyes Gwen picked herself off of the muddy ground.

She hurried to her tent, passing by a concerned looking Morgana, before closing the flap behind herself. She looked up in alarm as someone entered the tent, fully expecting the queen to be there with a switch. But instead Batilda entered with a small bucket of water and a rag.

Settling herself down on her cot the girl allowed her nurse to help her wipe away the remains of the mud.

"He...he's so mean!" she whispered, finding her throat tight with unshed tears. "Why can't he just leave me alone?" She closed her eyes tightly as the older woman bathed her face.

"Hush now love," the nurse said gently, frowning as she wrung out the rag. "You have to make yourself presentable for the queen."

The switch loomed in the forefront of her mind as she waited for the queen to arrive. The woman, managing to still look regal even though they were in the middle of a field, surveyed the girl before her.

"Leave us," she said, focusing on Gwen without even glancing at Batilda. The nurse quickly curtsied before ducking out of the tent.

Gwen held her breath as the woman neared her, finally feeling a few tears slip from her eyes.

"Milady, I am terribly sorry. I will do whatever you feel is right in response to my misbehavior but please, do not use a switch!"

Gwen found her throat tight with a buildup of tears, causing her voice to sound rather garbled.

The woman sighed before taking up Batilda's discarded rag to finish cleaning off Gwen. Neither spoke for a few moments until the queen finished.

"No one is going to be beaten," she reassured her ward, going over to the girl's trunk of clothing. She extracted another dress before gesturing for Gwen to strand. The queen unlaced her charge from her soiled gown before helping her into a fresh one.

"There will be a punishment, however. Both you and Arthur know better than to fight like urchins." The woman frowned lightly. "Neither of you will be allowed to join the banquets for the rest of the trip. If you can't behave properly in each others company, then you will not have the chance among The King's nobles."

Gwen nodded, feeling a sigh of relief escape her. She could handle that.

The queen placed herself on the cot before helping Gwen climb into her lap. She drew the girl close to her, allowing Gwen to rest her head on her shoulder.

"I know that Arthur provoked you," the queen began, gently brushing down Gwen's curls with one of her soft hands. "I've already spoken to him." She sighed, turning Gwen's face so that the two could see each other.

"He truly is a good boy, dear. He'll be a good man...a good king, someday. You mustn't take his behavior seriously. This period of his life is very crucial; he needs to prove himself so that his father can knight him. Neither of us as women can understand such a privilege, but I know it means the world to him to be acknowledged such by Uther."

The queen gently set Gwen back on her feet before rising to stand.

"I would like you both to apologize to each other before the night ends. Can you please do that for me, Guinevere?"

The girl nodded quickly.

"For you milady, anything. Th-thank you."

She looked up hopefully to the woman who had become her role model, finding to her delight that the queen had bestowed a soft smile upon her. She ducked out of the tent, leaving Gwen alone.

Gwen remained alone in the tent for nearly a half an hour before a curious Morgana entered to question her friend on what had happened. The girl refused to elaborate on the incident and the disgruntled princess left her shortly afterward. Gwen placed herself on her cot, turning away from Morgana's empty one beside her.

The queen had asked her and Arthur to apologize to each other before the end of the night, yet he had not yet approached her. Should she make the first move? She knew, rather stubbornly, that she shouldn't be the first one to apologize. After all, Arthur had been the one to rile her up. Yet she knew that if she made the first move Igraine would appreciate her attempts at peacemaking. To make the queen proud was a wish she held dear to her heart so, after mentally prepping herself, the young girl exited her tent.

With downcast eyes she approached the prince's tent before speaking up.

"Arthur? Are you there?" She hesitated. "I, er… I wanted to speak to you."

She gained no response. Was he not there? She hadn't seen him around the fire where many members of the group were positioning themselves for that night's meal.

Carefully she lifted up the flap of the tent before entering.

Her eyes instantly drifted to the prince's cot, only to find it empty. She moved to exit before nearly tripping on something. Thinking it a discarded piece of clothing she tried to brush it aside with her boot. Glancing down she saw that it was not, in fact, a piece of cloth, but Arthur's hand. The blond boy lay prone on the floor, a thick sweat breaking out over his forehead.

A shrill scream reverberated in her head as she stared down at the boy, unable to move.

Who was screaming? Why wouldn't they stop?

It was only when Arthur's valet entered and began to shake her by the shoulders that she realized she had been the one screaming at the seemingly dead prince.


	5. Chapter 4

An: Thank you for the reviews!

Although this chapter is a bit dark, it was fun to write. It was interesting to be able to twist Nimueh's story from the show into this fic. :P You'll see what I mean when you read it.

One more childhood chapter and then I'll introduce our favorite wizard!

Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".

The ride back to the citadel felt like a funeral procession, despite the fact that the prince was still breathing. All thoughts of Summer Progress were wiped clean from everyone of the party's minds as they each tried to comprehend that the dreaded Plague had made itself known in their group. Gaius had been at work on Arthur ever since Gwen's screams had alerted the camp to his illness. The prince was put in an empty cart with canvas covering all four sides. The only ones allowed in the 'sick wagon' was the physician and the boy's parents. All three wore swatches of cloth around their nose and mouth whenever they entered the wagon. It was suggested by Gaius that the cloth would protect its user from catching the virus, although many of the servants scoffed at the very idea behind the man's back.

It wasn't until Arthur's valet, who Gwen recognized to be the man whispering to his friend about The Plague, dropped dead a day later that Uther and Igraine thought it best to send both Morgana and Gwen ahead to the castle. The children were escorted by Sir Leon and Gregory and set a breakneck course for Camelot. Both girls barely spoke the entire journey back, too afraid to voice their fears for Arthur's life.

It wasn't until the two were back at the castle's chapel, kneeling in prayer that Gwen realized that Arthur might actually die. It seemed unrealistic; he was so young. Yet Elyan hadn't been much older and he had perished. Tears stung her eyes as she bent her head closer to her clasped hands. Arthur shouldn't have to suffer the same fate as her brother.

In certain ways the boy reminded her of her brother. They were both bossy for one thing, and both were obsessed with the very idea of knighthood. Arthur did look out for her on occasion much like Elyan had done. As much as Morgana was like a sister to her, Arthur was just as much like a brother. To see him die, even after he was mean to her, tore at her very heart. He was supposed to grow up, make friends and rivals, chase after girls, maybe find one day meet a princess of his own and fall in love with her; Gwen was supposed to witness his wedding and then be invited to his coronation.

Both girls spent most of their days cloistered up with the bishop and the rest of the court that had followed their return to Camelot. The people of the lower town gathered outside of the castle in the courtyard each night with candles, and were soon joined by some from the outlying villages. It wasn't until the rest of the royal family arrived with the deathly pale Arthur did the people begin keeping their vigil even during the daylight hours.

Neither girl was allowed into Arthur's chambers in fear that they would contract the disease. Instead they were kept secluded on the other side of the palace. It was there that the two continued to pray for the life of the boy, who more often than not riled them to frustration, yet neither could live without.

0o0o0o

Uther hadn't seen this day coming. The king rested a hand on his son's forehead, feeling his chest wrench with pain to see his eldest suffer so. His wife, normally so refined and poised, muffled her continuous tears against a handkerchief. The black swellings against the prince's skin were the focus of Uther's gaze as he allowed his mind to go numb.

"Sire?"

He reluctantly tore his eyes from his boy to Gaius. The physician had been working tirelessly to save his son but despite his efforts, there was little change in the boy. He took in the exhausted expression on the elderly man's face and once again counted himself lucky that Gaius was such a dedicated man.

"I fear the prince has little time left," came his verdict. "As you can see," he continued, "the swelling has increased since the past night. The next stage isn't that far off."

They both knew better than to utter the very last stage.

Death.

Uther placed his hand on his wife's shoulder, nodding toward Gaius to lead her out. Once the physician returned he found the king holding his son's hand in both of his own.

"He must be healed," he said, his voice firmer sounding then it had been in days. "He's my child...my boy." He turned tear filled eyes, eyes that he would never allow his subjects to see, toward his longtime friend.

"Have a party sent to Avalon. Send for The Lady of The Lake."

0o0o0o

The court was all a whisper about the sudden arrival of The Lady. Nimueh was known far and wide as the most powerful sorceress of all of Albion. Some believed her to be a fable, drawn together by other sorcerers. Others thought she truly was real, but held none of the power described of her. Both parties gathered in the great hall the evening of her arrival to see for themselves who this mysterious woman was.

The dark haired woman entered the hall without an announcement, startling the nobles around her. A path quickly formed itself for the woman swathed in white as she made her way to the enthroned king and queen. Gwen peeped out from behind Batilda's skirts at the mysterious woman having, prior to this moment, thought that she was a fable. The woman paused before the royal couple, graciously bowing at the waist.

The once whispering room fell to a hush.

"Your Majesties," Nimueh addressed the pair, finally raising her radiantly blue eyes to regard them both. They were beautiful, but cold.

Uther stood up quickly while Igraine remained seated, unsure of what to think of the enchantress. It had been rumoured that the queen had not been notified about her husband's request for Nimueh. Guinevere craned her neck to catch the introduction of the sorceress. She could see out of the corner of her eye that Morgana was practically pushing her own nurse out of the way in order to see.

"My lady," Uther began, bowing at the waist before her. "On behalf of myself and the queen, you are most welcome here." His eyes, still retaining the coldness of the past few days, dragged across the assembled crowd. "We all welcome you here."

The king's tone left no room for argument about Nimueh's skills or legitimacy.

The woman inclined her head slightly in thanks.

"I've heard of your plight," she explained, drawing attention to the leather bag at her waist. Gwen's eyes flicked to the bag that, up until this moment, had not even registered to her. Had it been there the entire time? By the looks given by the king and queen, the bag had not been there at all.

"You've asked for my help, and I will provide it for you."

A small gasp escaped the queen, startling the assembled crowd. Even throughout her son's illness the woman had kept her facade of serenity up in public. But all thoughts of remaining calm for the public were erased as she suddenly stood.

"You will help us, then? You will save Arthur."

Nimueh nodded solemnly.

"Take me to him lest we are too late."

Without direction Gaius stepped forward, bowing to The Lady before gesturing to the corridor. Both the king and queen hurriedly followed the pair, leaving the rest of the court to whispering among themselves.

Gwen sighed, more gossip…

0o0o0o

"Here, milady," Gaius gestured toward the prone figure resting upon the four poster bed. Nimueh observed the boy without speaking, carefully running a hand over his face. Igraine moved forward as if to defend him, although she was held back by her husband's hand on her shoulder.

"I've arrived just in time," the woman explained, not even looking at the other three as she procured a large, silver goblet from her bag. Following the goblet came a flask of some time of liquid. The flask, although rather small, wouldn't have fit in the bag; it made no sense that the goblet had managed to be held in it too.

She poised her hand to pour the now uncorked flask into the goblet. Yet her hand froze before the liquid had a chance to spill into the cup.

She turned her head slightly to address the three.

"You must understand: this is The Cup of Life. It will heal your son, but another's life will be taken to fill it. A life for a life. Do you understand?"

Her hand lower slightly.

"Are you willing to have another's death on your mind?"

Igraine, if able to, seemed even more pale at this revelation.

"Uther...we-"

She was cut off by her husband's nod of approval.

"Go ahead, milady."

With a look split between horror and relief Igraine fixed her eyes upon the sorceress. Nimueh poured the clear liquid into the goblet before whispering an incantation. She lowered her eyes to the barely breathing boy before tilting the goblet toward Arthur's lips. Gaius moved forward to raise Arthur's head to the goblet.

Slowly Nimueh poured it into the prince's mouth, watching as it slid down his throat. She withheld the cup after a moment before replacing it into her pouch. With a sputter Arthur's eyes flew open. He coughed once or twice, raising a shaking hand to his throat. He squinted in the dim lighting to find his parents and Gaius staring at him.

"What...what's happening?" Arthur asked, his voice sounding rough and dry after not being used for so long.

With a sob Igraine embraced her son, raining kisses across his forehead and cheeks. Arthur gave his mother a confused look while looking toward his father for an explanation.

"You were sick Arthur...The Lady-" He turned to gesture to Nimueh, only to find her no longer in the room. Gaius frowned suspiciously before leaving the room, returning a moment later to tell the king that the guard posted at the door had seen no one leave.

"My boy," Igraine whispered, refusing to let go of her son despite Arthur's look of bewilderment.

0o0o0o

The feast to celebrate Arthur's recovery was held a day after Nimueh's appearance. Thunderous applause the likes that Gwen had never heard echoed around the great hall as the prince was led in. He still looked rather pale although Gaius had assured her that he would make a full recovery. She had taken more of an interest in Gaius' work over the course of Arthur's illness. Medicine and it's possibilities interested her greatly. The elderly physician was quite pleased that the young girl was so interested in his work and welcomed her requests to observe and aid him.

She often thought that had she been able to meet either of her grandfathers, she would have liked them to be like Gaius.

She noticed that Morgana fairly bounced in her seat for the entire meal. Her friend was a very exuberant person, and she knew that the past few solemn days had been hard for her. Now that everyone was cheerful again it seemed that she was trying to make up for lost time. As soon as the music struck up she almost pounced on her father's arm to request a dance with him. Gwen watched the pair move along the line of nobles as they performed various turns and foot movements before glancing down the table at the fair haired boy to her right.

There seemed to be a bit more color in his cheeks now that he had eaten and drank some. Igraine attempted to force Arthur to sip down broth almost as soon as he had taken his seat. The queen feared that his lack of nutrition during his sickness would allow him to become more susceptible to another illness.

He caught her eyes, having felt her gaze on him.

Feeling awkward for staring, Gwen averted her gaze to her lap.

To her surprise she heard the scrape of his chair as he stood. Glancing up Guinevere saw him come to stand beside her.

"I, er, just wanted to apologize. For pushing you."

It seemed that the pair suddenly found the tips of their shoes the most interesting thing in the world as they avoided each others' gazes.

"Thank you … Arthur," she said, finally drifting her eyes up to him. He followed suit, finding a flicker of a smile resting on her face.

"And you must accept my apology as well..." she began, wincing slightly as she remembered how she had knocked him into the mud. She hadn't know he had been ill at the time, but now she pondered if she had made him any worse.

He shook his head, playing off the awkward situation.

"Just don't expect me to go down so easy again," he teased, causing a giggle to erupt from her. "I think you had a lucky shot."

"Guinevere!"

The pair turned to the caller of her name, Uther, who was currently leading Morgana back up to the dais.

"If you would do me the honor of joining in this galliard, milady," he said, playing up his bow for her. She beamed at his behavior before getting up from her chair. Passing in front of Arthur she paused, hesitating before hugging him tightly.

"I'm glad you didn't die," she whispered before letting go of him to take Uther's hand.

Had she looked back, she would have seen a very abashed looking young boy staring after her.

0o0o0o

It had grown rather late when the two girls' nurses sent them to retire for the evening. Begrudgingly the two children declared their 'good-nights' to the king and queen before retiring to their chambers. Arthur had left much earlier on the orders of the king as to not overtax his energy.

Batilda had scarcely began to brush out her charge's hair when an agitated knock sounded at the door. Frowning, the nurse moved toward the door to peer out into the corridor.

From her seat at the vanity table Gwen could still hear the anxious voice of the woman.

"The Queen! She...Sweet Jesus! She collapsed!"

The woman's choked voice sent a shiver down Gwen's spine.

Batilda opened the door wider in an effort to go into the corridor to speak privately with the servant. Gwen peeped around the table to fully see the distressed servant.

Tear tracks were clear against the woman's skin and a rather crazed look was shown in her eyes.

"She...she's dead!"

0o0o0o

For the third time that year Gwen's life was turned upside down. She had thought that the loss of her father and brother had been terrible, but she had somehow made it through that incident. She counted herself lucky that she had gained such a wonderful second-family in the Pendragons and gave that as her reason for recovering.

Arthur's near-death sickness had torn at her but his sudden recovery had made it seem like a distant nightmare.

Yet the death of the queen had rattled her.

This time there was no Igraine to turn to for comfort and sympathy.

Dressed in black for the second time that year she stood alongside the two royal children as the bishop droned on over Igraine's casket.

The girl's eyes had seemed perpetually blurry from the moment she had hear the servant had give Batilda the news some two days ago.

The two royal children weren't faring much better.

Morgana was openly sobbing, attempting to bury herself into her father's side. Arthur remained stoic although had Guinevere been standing closer to him she might have noticed the tears pooling in his eyes. Uther, the coldest out of the four, simply stared straight ahead. He reacted as if he didn't have his youngest child trying to gain comfort from him. It seemed that he was in a world of his own from now on.

The queen was dead, her goodness gone, and Camelot would never be the same again.


	6. Chapter 5

An: Last childhood chapter! I'd like to thank all of you that have been hanging in there. I really appreciate your reviews.

Thanks to the wonderful Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".

'A life for a life.'

Hadn't that been what Nimueh had told him?

Uther often thought over the sorceress' words during his month of self-confinement. Shut away from the world with his council at the reigns of the kingdom, he was finally alone to lament over his much beloved wife.

_Igraine._

Even the thought of her name caused his chest to constrict.

He'd rather be run through with a sword, smashed to death with a mace … anything but living without her.

He, unlike many other nobles, had been able to choose his wife. The lovely Princess of Cornwall, how lovely she had been! He had been smitten with her from their first meeting, and she with him. He, the dashing knight, recently crowned King of Camelot after conquering the land. She, the beautiful Princess Igraine with hair brighter than the shining sun, the daughter of one of Albion's most respected leaders.

They had been the ideal couple, the perfect match.

And now she was dead.

_A life for a life._

In his anger Uther hurled his neglected wine goblet across the room.

The burgundy liquid slowly slid down the cracks of the stonewall as he fixed his gaze upon it. Watching the flow took up his concentration, allowing him to forget reality for a brief second. Knowing that could no longer hold his attention he quickly swiped his arm across the table, knocking over his untouched supper.

Why did those damn servants keep serving him meals in his quarters like he was some type of prisoner? He had chosen to isolate himself; his choice didn't include any other human interaction.

He couldn't even stomach the thought of eating, of simply_ living _knowing that she wasn't.

_A life for a life._

That witch must have known that Igraine's life would be sacrificed...she had to have! Why hadn't she told them?

He didn't even think of the possibility of not saving Arthur then. But if given the choice, who would he have chosen? He knew, without a doubt, that Igraine would have given her life for her son's. But what would he have done?

He upturned his table, yelling as he did so. Ignoring the hurried footsteps of servants hovering outside his door he continued to destroy furniture.

The chair that he had been sitting in when she had told him she was expecting Arthur. _Smash!_

The stool she liked to rest upon when embroidering before the fire at night. _Smash!_

The very bed where he first took her, where the ultimate act of love between them had taken place. He raised his arms in an attempt to push out the mattress but found his limbs growing weak. He collapsed beside it, sobbing openly as he rested his head upon the blankets.

This hadn't been his fault! Why did he have to suffer so?

_A life for a life._

Nimueh.

It was all her fault that Igraine had died.

With shocking clarity the distressed king came to a realization of who the actual culprit was: magic.

Magic was to blame.

'A life for a life' she had told him.

Well, he'd take as many magical lives for Igraine as he could.

0o0o0o

Word of the king's return to the court sent the nobles a buzz. Even more surprising was his sudden declaration: magic was to be banned from Camelot.

"Why is that?" Gwen had asked Batilda after returning from the announcement. Already from the windows of her chambers she could see the knights riding out over the drawbridge. Uther had wasted no time in sending his men to arrest anyone with magic. A distant scream from the courtyard below as a servant was dragged away sent a shiver down her spine.

Quickly she turned away from the scene below her window into Batilda's outstretched arms.

The nurse held her charge to her bosom as she stroked the girl's curls.

"The king blames the princes' healer, dear," she began, even as Gwen looked up in confusion. "The Lady of The Lake … do you remember her?"

Gwen thought she would never forget her. The majestic looking Nimueh wasn't someone one forgot.

"She used magic to save Arthur."

Gwen shook her head, tears piercing her eyes.

"The...the queen! She would have...she should have..."

It was like reliving her father and Elyan's deaths all over again.

She allowed herself to cry then in mourning for the woman who had been the very epitome of kindness, the perfect queen.

The nurse held her girl closer as they tried to ignore the cries of anguish below as yet another victim was carried away to meet their fate.

0o0o0o

The weeks following the outlaw of magic seemed to be made of nightmares. Daily sorcerers were being executed in the courtyard, children drowned, witches burned. On occasion Uther had Arthur stand beside him to decree the final verdict upon the poor man or woman at the gallows below. Gwen and Morgana would then watch as he returned from the spectacle, seemingly unfeeling. Perhaps a stranger viewing him wouldn't see a difference in him, but the two people now closest to him could tell how he really felt.

Watching a cart of new prisoners enter the courtyard one morning from her chamber window, Gwen realized how one death had affected the entire kingdom so greatly. Not only were people dying because of Igraine's untimely death, the royal family itself was nothing like before.

Uther's genial behavior had been buried with his wife in the vaults below the citadel it seemed. His very heart, it was whispered, had frozen over. Gwen had cautiously asked Gaius if such a thing was possible the last time she had helped him with his herbs. The physician had assured her that a heart couldn't simply freeze over, forcing a laugh.

Gaius, the grandfather she never had, even seemed less capable to say or do something to make a smile appear on her face. Not only his behavior had changed but his rooms too. Gwen had inquired about his books with the funny language inside of it that she liked to skim through from time to time, but he had acted as if she had been making up their very existence. This had bothered her to no end until she had convinced herself that she had made up the strange tomes, perhaps seen in a dream.

But it was really the prince and princess that she worried most for. She herself felt alone without Igraine, but she couldn't imagine how Morgana and Arthur felt without their mother. She counted herself almost lucky that she had never met her own mother, as she had no memories of the woman to miss. Batilda was the closest thing she had to a mother figure, and Igraine had become a type of foster-parent herself.

Morgana, if anything, seemed to act out more often. She would stubbornly refuse to do whatever her nurse told her even when faced with punishment from her father. The day that he had taken a switch to her after a particularly bad argument found the princess strutting around with her head held high despite the painful and humiliating flogging.

Arthur was more prone to snapping at others, especially the servants. She supposed it was easier for him to order them about then perhaps taking out his anger on herself and Morgana. He seemed rougher, more intent on growing up over night.

She almost felt as if in any moment she would wake up in her old castle to have breakfast with her father and Elyan, as if this was all a bad dream.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the clattering of a group of horsemen below in the courtyard.

A group of knights dismounted, wearing the colors of another kingdom. It took her a moment to draw on her lessons of the noble houses of Albion before she recognized the crest of Cornwall. She had seen the symbols scattered around the queen's chamber, as she had been Princess of Cornwall before marrying Uther. Hurriedly she hopped off of her window seat before taking off out of her room. She ignored Batilda's questions as she skidded out into the hallway, nearly colliding with Morgana in the process.

"Someone from Cornwall just arrived," she said in a rush, watching as her friend's face lit up.

For the first time in almost two months, Gwen saw her friend smile.

"It must be Uncle Tristan then!" the girl exclaimed before taking up her friend's hand. The two set off at a run, dodging confused looking servants on their way down to the entrance hall.

"Uncle Tristan is Mother's younger brother," she said, a bit of her exuberant behavior from before Igraine's death peeking out. "He's so funny...you have to meet him!"

Both girls stopped short, however, when they heard shouting from the entrance hall. The two peeped over the stair railing to see Uther standing a few paces from a fuming Tristan. From their vantage point they could see an uncertain Arthur hanging back a few feet from his father.

With a clatter Tristan's gauntlet was thrown to the ground.

The tension in the room was clear even to the two wide-eyed children.

The blond haired man standing before Uther locked eyes with the king, speaking in a grave tone.

"You killed my sister. Igraine! Do you realize that Uther? Your Igraine! My sister!"

The man's voice sounded so pained Gwen, to her surprise, found tears welling in her eyes.

"She was the closest friend I had in this world, and yet you only sent news to Cornwall a week ago! A week! She's been dead for more than a _month_!"

His harsh green eyes flicked down to his gauntlet.

"Pick it up, monster. Pick it up so that I can avenge an innocent life."

The guards standing around Uther began to close in on Tristan until the king raised one gloved hand.

"Your terms?" the king asked, the very picture of coldness. It looked almost as if he was scolding a naughty child.

"A sword fight, to the death," declared the dashing looking knight standing before him.

There was a beat or two of silence in the hall before Uther stooped to pick up the gauntlet.

"I'm sorry it's come to this," the king commented, although those around him saw no regret in his features.

0o0o0

Nearly an hour later almost the entire court had crammed into the arena. After much begging to Batilda, Gwen was allowed to attend with Morgana and her reluctant nurse. The two were kept toward the back of the royal box although they did have a good of view of the arena. Arthur took his father's chair in the box, his expression showing nothing of his current feelings. She wondered what he must be thinking, having his uncle and father fighting each other to the death.

Morgana, she knew, was terribly anxious about it. But she knew that because Morgana would confide just about anything to her. Arthur, however, wasn't about to go sharing his inner thoughts with an eight year old girl.

Silence fell over the arena as the two men, outfitted in chain mail and armor, entered the ring.

Gaius, acting as the king's eldest friend and closest adviser, stood from his place at the end of the royal box.

"Tristan de Bois has challenged Uther Pendragon, who has accepted this challenge, to a fight to the death," he declared, finding himself wavering over the last word.

"You may begin – now!"

The crowd seemed to hold its breath as the two men slowly began to circle each other, swords poised. It was impossible for Gwen to see both men's expressions because of their helmets and she scooted forward a bit more in her chair as if that would somehow improve her view of their faces.

Finally Tristan made the first blow toward Uther, which the king parried without difficulty. The clash of swords seemed almost earth-shattering in the silent arena. The song of the metal clashing was almost like a bird's song. A song of death.

A strong swipe from Tristan barely missed Uther's chest. Gwen felt rather than heard Morgana's reaction next to her. Gwen sneaked a peek over at Arthur, seeing that he was rather pale. It dawned on her then that if Uther was to die today, Arthur would become the king. The responsibility of that position at such an early age would be unbearable. Even though there would be a council ruling alongside hum as regency until he was of age, Arthur would still retain the title and must conduct himself befitting his position.

The crowd let out a collective groan as Uther was nearly tripped up by his challenger. The king quickly recovered before sending a wave of swipes at his opponent. The clanging of the metal continued to ring for what seemed to be ages.

The defeat happened in an instant.

One moment Uther was blocking a blow with his shield, and the next he had swung out his sword toward Tristan's rib. With a sickening noise the sword imbedded itself into the Prince of Cornwall. Uther roared before withdrawing the sword with a quick yank.

The crowd focused in on the stumbling prince, now clutching his bleeding rib. A slight gasping was heard from the middle of the arena as the man struggled with his last few breaths. Uther's sword dropped to the dust with a 'clang' as he watched his wife's brother fall at his hands.

Gwen averted her eyes, feeling bile rise up in the back of her throat.

Was this the same man who had welcomed her into his lands, his home? That had danced with her nearly a month ago without a care in the world?

By the time she looked back Uther had left the arena, and a group of guards began to carry away Tristan's body.

He was just another name to add to Uther's victims now.


	7. Chapter 6

AN: I know that I normally update on Fridays, but next week I am going to visit family. My next update will probably be sometime early next week.

And finally the introduction of our friend Merlin! Writing the trio as children has been fun, but the chance at writing them at the age of the show allows for more of my plot to shine through. You'll see.

Again, thanks goes to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin". Check out the borrowed dialogue somewhere in this chapter. :P

The sixteen year old girl observed herself carefully in the mirror mounted above her vanity table, turning her head slightly to the right and left to observe her nurse's handy work. Her curls, nearly reaching her waist, looked silky smooth where they flowed down her back. A hair ornament of gold inlaid with rubies- a gift from the king for her last birthday- glittered in her dark hair. Her eyes drifted from her hair to her face, taking in the mature look of it. Gone were the chubby cheeks of her childhood and the overall infantile appearance. She felt at that moment that she looked every inch the young woman she was becoming. Guinevere smiled in gratitude to Batilda for taking such care with the details of her dressing.

"The seamstress did a rather good job on this," the older woman commented, taking Gwen's new gown from the oak clothes press. "Perhaps you should have taken lessons from her rather than me," she teased, causing her charge to giggle at the jest.

"Nonsense Batilda," the young lady mock chastised, rising from her cushioned stool to approach Batilda. Gwen picked at the muted golden sleeve tenderly, admiring the sight of her new gown. The seamstress did have an eye for fashion there was no denying that. The sleeves trailed down nearly all the way to the floor. The bodice was of apple red shade, embellished with bleak peach colored patterns of leaves and vines; the skirt was the same hue as the designs, accentuating the soft ensemble.

Batilda helped her charge into a linen ivory shift before Gwen stepped into the layers of silk. Gwen gritted her teeth as the nurse pulled the stays of her dress as tight as possible, leaving just enough room for the girl to breathe. One of the first things she had noticed becoming a 'young woman' was the pain it brought along.

Now that her chest had developed she was required to wear stays and corsets to reign in her bust and minimize the already slim waist. This 'reigning in' certainly drew attention to her blossoming womanhood from the male courtiers. Studying her reflection in the mirror as Batilda laced her up, Guinevere knew, for her age, she didn't look too buxom. Quite a few of the ladies at court had rather large bosoms in comparison and shy as she was, Guinevere suspected that she would be stuck with her petite figure forever as Batilda had recently estimated that she had stopped growing, both in height and chest. The nurse had dubbed her petite size as "delicate" although that didn't stop Gwen from envying the ladies flashing their busts at court.

In addition to the pinching and squeezing that the stays brought, womanhood brought along the dreaded monthly cycle. The actual cycle didn't cause her pain, but she often found herself having such terrible stomach pains the week prior. She was rather glad that she wasn't the only lady at court, yet asking Gaius for a 'special pain potion', as she called it, was still rather awkward.

Her nurse gently patted her shoulder.

"There you are lamb," she said, stepping back to look at her charge.

Gwen beamed back at the woman before she moved toward the door.

"Wait!"

She stopped short, catching onto the door for support as Batilda hurried over to her mistress' jewelry box. The woman shuffled through it for a moment or two before extracting a simple gold chain. She padded over to Gwen, lovingly clipping it around the girl's neck.

"It's simple," the woman noted, stepping back to take in the girl's appearance, "but it had always been a favorite of your mother's." The nurse smiled softly. "Now, off you go."

**o0o0o**

The feast that night was to be held in Arthur's honor. As he had recently turned nineteen Uther's heir was officially of age and to be awarded the title of 'Crown Prince'. Though seemingly just a ceremony to her, she knew that it meant much more to her childhood playmate. Alongside Morgana she had witnessed Arthur's transformation from a boy to a young man with great strength and skills on the battlefield. He still had his cockiness - intensified if anything - yet when he was alone with the two girls the prince was _fairly _tolerable. Gwen and Morgana often pitied the poor girl destined to marry him; she would have to put up with his ego every moment of every day.

Thankfully there had, as of yet, been no talk of marriage in Guinevere's life. Although she knew that to make a good match through marriage was the most important task set out for her gender, she was in no hurry. Camelot was now her home, and she would prefer remain within its citadel walls for quite some time yet. Guinevere was also aware that both Arthur and Morgana's marriages would take precedence over hers, as they were the king's children. At least that assured her that out of her and Morgana Gwen would be the last to depart.

She nodded in greeting to the guests that began to mill into the great hall. Morgana was stationed at the door, making small talk with nearly every guest that filed into the room. As first lady, she had taken up all the social duties that would have otherwise befallen Igraine. Gwen thought her friend, a natural social "pariah", had taken up the mantle of responsibility rather successfully.

"Wine, milady?"

She turned to the servant that addressed her, accepting the goblet as she took him in.

He was perhaps a bit taller than Arthur and thin, giving him an almost gangly appearance. Yet a bit of boyish charm was evident despite the respectful expression that his features were currently cemented in.

"I don't think that we've met before," she commented, watching as the young man's eyes widened slightly at actually being addressed by one of the nobles.

The tips of his ears turned slightly red from embarrassment. "My name is Merlin, milady," he said, bowing slightly while attempting to keep the tray with goblets of wine level. "I arrived not but two days ago to stay with my guardian, Gaius."

Gwen's eyes lit up.

"Gaius? You're staying with him?" She smiled. "He is a dear friend; you'll be in good hands." She took a sip from her goblet before brushing back a curl. "I am the Lady Guinevere," she tilted her head slightly. "I should be seeing quite a lot of you then. Gaius has been teaching me about his profession ever since I was a girl."

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the sound of trumpets. The two glanced toward the entrance of the hall before she smiled in farewell as he stood back in line with the rest of the servants.

Standing before her place at the head of the table beside Morgana, Guinevere turned her attention toward the large doors at the end of the hall and watched as Uther strode through, causing the rest of the room to bow as if by magic. He nodded as he passed by the rows of tables lined up before standing next his own seat beside Morgana.

"Thank you, one and all, for attending this evening's ceremony," he began, observing the mass amounts of guests.

As the king droned on Gwen discreetly assessed him.

The past eight years had not been kind to Uther. His hair, once thick and dark, had started to thin and grey. Deep-set frown lines were apparent on his face, replacing any laugh lines of his earlier years. The most obvious physical difference of all was the scar running down his forehead above his right eye. Uther himself had ridden out with his men eight years ago to capture the last living dragon and imprison it in the vaults below the city. The wound, then bleeding massively, had been a souvenir of sorts from the skirmish that ensued with the beast.

Gwen's eyes wandered toward the entrance once more as the trumpets rang again. Arthur appeared, wearing his mail and tunic bearing the crest of Camelot. He too had shed his childish features some time ago. He was a man in every sense of the word at this point in his life. Truly _every_ sense, if one believed gossip; as prince, and extremely handsome one at that, he had no shortage of young noblewomen interested in him. He had been rather close with a few of them publicly, giving rise to rumors.

Arthur knelt before his father in front of the dais, and bowed his head.

Gwen had never seen the young man look that solemn since his mother's funeral.

Uther's voice rang through the hall.

"Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominions according to the statutes, customs and laws laid down by your forebears?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as the guests waited for Arthur to answer. Although replies during ceremonies such as these were hardly new inventions, having been repeated for the last couple of centuries over and over again.

"I do, Sire," he replied, his voice strong despite the nerves running through his limbs. "Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgments?" "I do, Sire." Uther held out his hand, prompting Sir Leon to hand him a golden staff. Uther held it out to his son, speaking once more:

"And do you swear allegiance to Camelot, now and for as long as you shall live?" Arthur finally looked up at his father before taking hold of the staff. "I, Arthur Pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service and to the protection of the kingdom and its people."

A ghost of a proud smile formed on the king's face as he took a step backward. "Now being of age and heir apparent, from henceforth, you shall be Crown Prince of Camelot."

The hall collapsed into applause, earning a small smile from the newly crowned young man. He bowed his head in thanks to his father before nodding in appreciation to the two young women at the table. Guinevere thought she might have been mistaken when she noticed how he seemed to have held her gaze longer than he had Morgana's. But the moment passed and she simply brushed it aside. During the course of the evening Guinevere observed the courtiers as they socialized around the room and table. Women gossiped, men ate and young knights drank and flirted with young ladies. While growing up she often felt alone while in a crowded room. Unlike Morgana, Gwen rarely participated in courtly gossip, though she did listen to quite a lot being Morgana's best friend and found some of it rather amusing.

After Igraine's death Uther buried himself in work and even during feasts tried to hint on strategic alliances with his guests. The prince could almost always be found among the knights laughing and drinking wine, although sometimes he humored visiting ladies who tried desperately to flirt with him. And so Guinevere observed, year after year she listened to Uther's political plots and strategic tricks to please visiting barons and kings. She assessed and compared ladies of fine breeding and propriety with those of seemingly equal status yet inferior in manners and taste. Safe to say Uther's ward learned quite a lot but kept this acquired knowledge to herself so as to not draw too much attention to herself – that was Morgana's preference. She sighed. One can normally tell if one is being stared at, and Guinevere was no different. Discretely, she lifted her head to scan the crowds, trying to pinpoint exactly who was watching her so intently. Finally she glanced down the opposite side of the dais, noticing how Arthur quickly changed the focus of his gaze.

Feeling a bit confused, and a tad bit awkward, she blinked and switched her attention to the guests starting to line up for a dance. She soon spotted Merlin on the edge of the crowd, still passing out wine goblets to the guests. Gwen leaned over closer to Morgana, gesturing toward the young man.

"Gaius has invited a newcomer to court," she said, watching the princess' gaze fall upon Merlin. The young woman was quiet for a moment as she observed him.

"Has he been here long?" Morgana inquired, adjusting the cloth napkin in her lap indifferently. "I haven't seen him before."

"Father hired him as my new manservant only a day ago." The two young women turned to Arthur, who had an unobstructed view of them now that Uther was no longer sitting at the dais.

Again she felt his gaze linger on her form prompting Guinevere to speak up so as to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of Arthur's eyes on her.

"He seems like a very polite boy." The newly crowned prince rolled his eyes.

"He's a lousy servant. But I suppose he's better than nothing. I've been without a permanent one since Morris left, you see."

Gwen inwardly winced at the mention of poor Morris and spared the prince a knowing glance. No wonder the man had resigned from his post. She didn't know how the servant had managed to survive working for Arthur for the past five years.

"He's new. You'll just have to give him a chance."

She smiled brightly as Sir Leon approached the dais, bowing as a request for her hand. A dance was just what she needed to get over the strange attention Arthur was paying her.

**o0o0o**

It was shortly after midnight when Guinevere finally decided to retire for the evening. After curtseying graciously to Uther and bidding him and the visiting lords a 'goodnight', she took her leave of the gentry. She was barely five steps into the corridor when she felt a hand rest on her arm. Turning around swiftly Gwen relaxed when she found the arm to belong to Arthur. He smiled faintly but other than that remained silent, as if at a loss.

"Congratulations," she said, unsure of what else to say.

"Your father seems very proud of you."

_Your mother would have been proud too._

His smiled widened and he looked down, almost a little abashedly.

"Thank you." The prince looked up and his blue eyes kept searching for something in her chocolate doe ones. Gwen blinked away and looked around. The two teenagers stood in awkward silence for a moment. Finally she cleared her throat.

"I, er, should be heading to bed," she said, not catching the flash of fervent emotion in the prince's eye at her words.

She curtsied, smiling a bit as she rose.

"Goodnight." He bowed in turn.

"Goodnight, Guinevere," he said, watching her intensely as she started to turn to walk away.

The doors to the great hall opened, surprising the two. Merlin, with a half-filled tray in hand, watched them awkwardly for a second, not knowing what he interrupted.

"I, er… just on my way to the kitchens," he managed to get out, trying to side step the two.

Gwen nodded to him before starting off down the hall once more. The sound of splashing and the yell of "Idiot!" paused her movements. For the second time she looked back. An empty goblet rolled on the stone floor all the way to her slipper-clad feet. Another goblet, now empty, lay on the floor near Arthur's foot. Wine dripped down the edge of his red tunic. The prince glared at the boy who was looking back at him with wide eyes, as if searching for an excuse on his master's face.

"I'm not used to holding a tray. I'm sorry, si-"

To her surprise she watched as Arthur pushed the tray forward, causing the remaining goblets to spill down Merlin's front. The boy stood there for a moment, as if in shock.

"Hey!"

The two men turned to her, surprise registering on their faces. Feeling her face grow warm, as it often did when Arthur had picked on her or Morgana as children, she strode over to the two.

"It was a mistake Arthur," she chastised, her voice sounding firm as she bent to pick up the fallen goblets.

Merlin quickly bent down to help her, nearly knocking heads with her as the two piled the goblets back onto the tray. Gwen refused Arthur's extended hand to help her up, instead standing on her own. "A little wine won't hurt him," Arthur said, as if trying to brush aside the insult.

"Seriously Guinevere, don't even conc-"

She ignored the prince, and, to his shock, instead turned her attention to his servant.

"If you go the laundress right away she might be able to salvage your clothing. Here," she touched his arm," I'll show you the way."

Merlin followed obediently, uncertainty displayed clearly on his face for a moment as he weighed the situation before attempting to hide a smile. Arthur, seeing the mirth on his new servants face, fumed.

"Gwen..."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, displeasure clear in her expression and said: "It is a pity that your new title didn't also bring along with it the behavior that a "Crown Prince" ought to have."

The lady nearly dragged a smiling Merlin around the corner, leaving a disgruntled prince who wasn't sure if he was more enraged with his servant or embarrassed that Guinevere had found fault in him. But why should he care? He mused over the abashed feeling he had of being spoken to by the girl he used to push in the mud, who had seemingly grown into a beautiful young woman without him noticing. After a moment Merlin spoke.

"Thank you but … why did you do that? I mean, he's the prince but still..."

She shook her head, giving him a small smile.

"I've known him since we were children. He's just as big of a bully now as he was then. But don't worry, you'll get used to him," she rolled her eyes.

Guinevere laughed, pushing open the door to the laundry chambers where the women were hard at work despite the late hour.

"You'll get used to His Royal Pratness soon enough."

**o0o0o**

"Thank you Gregory. That will be all."

The guard, once one of her father's trusted men, bowed before stepping away from Gwen's horse. She glanced over the courtyard where members of the court were currently mounting their steeds in preparation for that morning's hunt. Arthur had organized it, as it was the first hunting expedition of the spring. Everyone seemed itching to go, including the horses. No doubt the long winter had kept a few of them feeling cooped up in the stables. Gwen readjusted her deep purple cloak, which concealed a lavender dress beneath it. She had, after much begging to Batilda, managed to loosen her stays somewhat to make the ride more comfortable.

She looked up from her wardrobe as Arthur entered the courtyard, followed by Merlin fast on his heels. Merlin was still somewhat cheerful after almost two weeks in Arthur's service, so Gwen counted the employment as a success. She readjusted her reins as she waited for the two to mount their own horses. Morgana, unfortunately, had caught a slight cold earlier that week, making Uther forbid her from attending this time. Knowing how cramped up her friend had been in the citadel for the winter she felt just as bad for her as she did the antsy looking horses.

"Forward!"

She spurred her horse on as the prince called out, leading the group out of the courtyard. She kept close to the middle of the pack as they thundered over the drawbridge and out toward the woods behind the castle. She felt excitement leap in her throat the speed, causing an unrestrained laugh of delight to issue from her lips.

_How wonderful it felt! _

She fell behind Merlin, who, although nowhere near as good of a horseman as Arthur, was handling the reins better than expected. The party began to break off into small groups in order to not scare the game away. Guinevere kept with the two young men in front of her, knowing that Arthur normally kept a fast pace. She was in no mood to tread along at a walk when she could be nearly flying through the forest. She bent slightly forward as her mare took a log, laughing at Merlin's attempted recovery from the jump ahead. He flashed her a grin over his shoulder for a split second before turning his bright eyes back to the path. A flash of fur ahead of them set her heart flying. She began to slow her horse as her two companions did the same before finally coming to a halt.

The three dismounted, tying their reins to nearby branches to ensure that their mounts did not run away. Gwen unbuckled her bow and arrow from the side of her saddle before taking small, sneaking quiet steps toward Arthur. Although she wasn't that adept with the bow, one simply couldn't go hunting armed with no weapon. Most of the time Gwen would simply attend for the thrill of the chase rather than the chance of an actual kill. Arthur held up a hand for the two to stop before gesturing to Merlin. The servant fumbled for the prince's crossbow before handing it to him, an arrow always notched in it.

"The first of the season," Arthur commented, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder at the two.

Gwen and Merlin remained behind as Arthur stalked forward, crouching behind bushes and trees as he neared in on the doe. He settled behind a bush surrounded by high grass, aiming. Gwen was so intent on watching Arthur at work that she hadn't even noticed one knight of their party moving toward him with his bow raised, pointed at the bush. Arthur accidentally brushed against the leaves of the bush, causing them to twitch as if an animal or some creature were hiding between the leaves. Apparently the man took this as a sign of animal life, and began to draw back his crossbow. The groan of the wood finally broke Gwen's concentration, sending ice shooting through her veins.

"No!"

The sound of the arrow shooting through the air seemed to be the only thing she could hear. Instead of hearing it find it's mark in flesh, however, she heard it bury itself into wood. Astounded she focused on the arrow, now embedded in the tree trunk where Arthur's head had been so close to moments before. Arthur, no longer in the bush, was currently flat on his stomach with Merlin splayed across him. Had it been in a different situation, she would have been near tears. The nobleman paled before dropping his crossbow and rushing toward the prince. Hastily he pulled Merlin off Arthur as Gwen knelt beside them.

"Sire...Please forgive me!" the man simpered, watching the young man with wide eyes.

"'T'was an accident! I swear!"

Arthur stood up rather shakily, staring at the arrow, Gwen, and then Merlin before shaking his head.

"I know it was an accident Pellinore," he said, his voice sounding strange from the shock. He looked at Merlin, as if just realizing what he had done.

"You … you just saved my life." Merlin blushed and looked around unsure of what to do.

"It, er...I couldn't have just let you die, even if you are a prat."

For a moment annoyance flickered across Arthur's face before it was erased by something near to appreciation.

"You have my most sincere gratitude," the prince remarked, awkwardly clapping the boy on his back.

Merlin bent slightly from the strength of the blow before grinning a bit. Gwen smiled from where she stood beside Pellinore, watching as a bit of Igraine shined through the prince.


	8. Chapter 7

AN: Next week I will be back to posting on Fridays. My schedule is a bit off now, but...yay for another chapter?

I really enjoyed writing this one. I'm not sure for any particular reason, but I think it is mainly because it is Guinevere and Arthur just...acting themselves.

But enjoy! And thanks for the reviews!

Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

Lady Guinevere kept her head bowed, her hands clasped as she waited for Uther's decision.

The king observed his ward over his wine goblet as he pondered over his response.

"As long as you bring a moderate retinue of knights, I see no reason as to why you shouldn't go," he finally replied, revealing a ghost of his amiable former self. "In fact, had I not been swamped with issues of state I would have gladly joined you. Alas, I have work to do, Guinevere."

"Of course. Thank you for granting me this request, my lord."

"Very well, Guinevere," the king nodded in dismissal. Uther's gloved hand waved her thanks away in the air as he returned to matters of state, leaving a smiling Gwen to exit the king's receiving rooms.

She curtsied, taking a few steps backward toward the door before turning around and leaving the room.

She had for some time now, wanted to make a pilgrimage to the chapel at Camilliard where her parents were entombed. The last time she had gone was four years ago when the royal progress had included the town into the estate's route.

As she was the king's ward her inherited lands and family wealth were under Uther's jurisdiction until her marriage. He often used Camilliard for hosting visiting nobles, and had kept on many members of her father's staff in order to preserve the upkeep of the castle.

Excited about her upcoming plans though, she had much to do. She had to send word ahead to alert the staff of her arrival, gather a retinue of knights, organize suitable amount of provisions for the trip...

Yet despite the work ahead Gwen could focus on one thing only: she was going home.

**0o0o0**

Five days later lady Guinevere strode into the courtyard not long after dawn, finally ready to depart for her beloved home. Despite the early hour, going back to sleep was the farthest thought from her mind. She had barely been able to fall asleep the previous night knowing where she would be going on the morrow. Gwen feared that she had pushed poor, frazzled Batilda a bit too much that morning in an effort to hasten her departure; the middle-aged nurse followed silently. Batilda was used to rise in the early morning hours, but not with energetic youngsters disorienting her routine and rushing her at such a time.

Gwen nodded in greeting to the page holding her horse. From the corner of her eye she could see a knight dressed in his chainmail and tunic approaching her. He cupped his hands for her to step into before lifting her upward toward her saddle. Once she hooked her leg around the pommel she moved to adjust her skirts.

"Thank you Sir..." She looked down finding, to her surprise, that the knight was Arthur. "...Arthur?"

He grinned rather cheekily at her confusion before mounting his own stallion. "You needed knights, didn't you Guinevere?" he asked, completely at ease despite her expression. "Have you forgotten that I've been knighted? And some time ago it was too…" It was clear that the prince was holding back a laugh as he spurred his mount forward, leading the party over the drawbridge.

She shook her head as if to clear it before following Sir Leon out of the courtyard, with Sir Bors taking up the rear.

Arthur's peculiar personality she could deal with later; Camilliard was waiting for its mistress.

Around noon the party made a stop alongside a small creek. It was a beautiful day though the high sun was shining somewhat too hot and the slight breeze did little to nothing to cool down the travelers. The ladies were glad they were wearing dresses as opposed to the men in chainmail accompanying them. Gwen smiled in gratitude to Sir Leon as the knight helped her down from her horse. She withdrew a small handkerchief once on the ground, throwing a quick glance over to Batilda to see that the woman had alighted from her own steed, before making her way toward the refreshing stream of water. She dipped the clean cloth into the creek and wrung it to remove some excess water, straightening when she heard someone approach her. Gwen turned around.

The close proximity of her intruder caused her to jump and nearly drop her linen handkerchief. The warrior prince, standing a couple of inches behind her, laughed leaning against a boulder to observe her.

"You would think that after all these years you'd catch onto that trick," he teased, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Guinevere rolled her eyes in a rather unladylike fashion before dabbing at her neck and forehead with the cool cloth. The freshness of the damp fabric didn't completely cool her heated skin, but it did settle her for the moment.

"I'd thought that you would have grown tired of that trick by now," she countered, detecting a smile on her lips despite herself remembering their childhood teasing. Feeling his gaze riveted to her she looked up to question him, only to find his eyes locked on the hand currently wiping at the planes of her throat. She quickly lowered her dainty hand, a little flustered. Quickly Guinevere dipped the handkerchief in the water again before standing before him. She replicated her ministrations on him as she had on herself as she spoke: "Thank you for escorting me but … I am a little confused as to why you did it. I mean there will not be much to entertain you at Camilliard and-"

She was cut off as his hand came to rest on her lower arm, halting her movements. The two youngsters locked eyes for a moment before Gwen awkwardly lowered her gaze and the hand holding the handkerchief. She would have done the same to either Morgana or Batilda, so the strange look in his eyes as the prince observed her confused her. Had she offended him by touching him? Perhaps at their age innocent childhood habits were not appropriate any longer. The young lady twisted the soaking cloth in her hand.

"I had better aid Batilda," she muttered hurrying away from the young man, whose eyes held an emotion she was unfamiliar with: lust.

**0o0o0**

Two days hence the party clattered over the drawbridge of Cameliard not long before nightfall. It took all of Gwen's restraint not to leap from her horse and embrace the young woman standing beside the elderly housekeeper at the castle steps: Cook's daughter, Fayette. She hadn't seen her friend since the last time she had visited, which had been far too long in Gwen's opinion. She barely looked at Arthur as he helped her from her horse and instead beckoned the two servants over.

The two women curtsied before her and Fayette seemed to be almost jumping out her skin from excitement.

"You are most welcome home, milady," the old housekeeper began, rising up with her creaky knees. "I have prepared rooms for you and your guests."

It was only then that the woman's sight landed on Arthur, now that he was drawing closer to them.

"Your Highness!" The two fell into their curtsies again before Arthur waved off their greeting.

"I shall have Sir Thomas' chambers prepared for you, Your Highness," the housekeeper went on, looking more and more flustered as the moments went on. "They're the best chambers in the castle, I assure you."

Curtseying again she halted beside the large, wooden doors.

"If your knights would follow me, milord, I will lead them to their rooms."

With a nod by Arthur the four knights followed the woman up the stairs into the castle.

Without curiosity of prying eyes Gwen fairly flew into the arms of her friend, laughing as the girl squeezed her tightly.

"I've missed you!" she exclaimed, finally pulling back to look over her long time friend. The girl's blond hair had grown even longer, yet her face held the same childish twinkle that it always had had.

"And I you," Fayette laughed, dusting off Gwen's sleeve of it's travel dust.

"You weren't here for… the wedding."

The two girls giggled aloud before starting to walk up the steps to the castle.

"Is he dreadfully handsome?" Gwen teased, watching as a blush formed on the girl's cheeks.

"You'll just have to meet him to judge for yourself. I fear that I would think him handsome even if he were a toad."

The girls, laughing, had nearly forgotten about the prince behind them.

"Aren't you coming along, Arthur?" Gwen asked, pausing on the top step to look at him quizzically.

The young man straightened up. "Of course … after you, Guinevere."

She spared him a curious glance before picking up the dropped conversation with her friend, trying not to think of the young knight trailing behind her.

**0o0o0**

That night, for the first time in quite a while, supper was served to a member of the Leodegrance family in the great hall. Gwen had gratefully changed from her dusty traveling clothes to a gown of a pale green, fitted with a darker green girdle around her waist. The silky cloth felt heavenly against her skin, which had been uncomfortably overheated ever since their departure from Camelot. May was seemingly turning into summer overnight.

She stood from her chair as Arthur entered, waiting until he had sat before taking up her seat once more. It felt odd sitting where her mother had often sat at the table, and seeing Arthur in her father's place of honor.

"I hope that you have settled in well," she commented, taking her now filled goblet of wine to her lips. The servants worked around them silently, no doubt listening carefully to their conversation to relay it to the kitchen staff.

"The chambers that were arranged are most efficient," he began watching as she smiled in greeting to another long time servant. He toyed with the stem of the goblet currently in his hand. "They were your father's rooms, were they not?"

Gwen's hand paused as she reached for the food on her plate. "They were," was all she answered as she picked up the roll she had been aiming for.

Awkward silence followed for the next few minutes.

"What was he like? I never had the chance to meet him?" the prince inquired, watching her carefully over his goblet rim.

Gwen hesitated, unsure of the best way to sum up her father. She feared that if she had been given full reign over her words she would have the prince listening to her for hours. How does one sum up perhaps the most important figure in their lives?

"He was a very … caring man," she settled on, wiping her fingertips on the napkin in her lap. "He was kind yet he could be firm, most often with my brother." A ghost of a smile flitted across her face.

"He was level headed, trustworthy, brave... He was, in my mind, the ideal knight." She raised her gaze from her lap to the young man before her. "There…there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss him and my brother."

She awkwardly cleared her throat, realizing that he probably hadn't wanted a full out explanation of her sentiments for her family. Gwen noticed that for some reason their conversations were strained lately, whenever she tried to loosen up he would surprise her with an unexpected gesture or subject which either made caused her discomfort or simply left her at a loss with confusion.

Silence reigned for quite some time before he spoke again.

"And your mother?"

She set down her fork, holding up her goblet so that the servant could fill it again. "I never met her. She died shortly after my birth," she explained, taking note that the prince's eyes never left her during her explanation.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, sincere and sympathetic.

Gwen smiled slightly.

"I'd like her to have been like your mother, though. I imagine if she had been anything like the queen she would have been quite the person."

She was rewarded with a gentle smile from her childhood playmate before the two fell into silence once more.

**0o0o0**

For the next five days Gwen found herself firmly planted in the small chapel of the village. The priest, out of respect for her mourning, tried his best to keep the rest of the clergymen away from her during her vigil. Occasionally a curious looking altar boy would pause in his chores to stare at her, but the occurrences became less and less frequent.

After taking her lunch meal in Batilda's company she returned to the chapel before taking up her spot that she had christened as her own the previous day. Guinevere crossed herself as she knelt before the two stone slabs inlaid in the floor. Her parents' names were etched into both, showing where they were laid to rest beneath the chapel floor. Her brother's name was conspicuously missing as a body had never been found and there had been no funeral. Sometimes she wondered whether Elyan's spirit was trapped between the world of the living and the dead; whether he had been unable to achieve heaven due to his body's lack a proper funeral. It was easier to think that than the slim possibility that he was still alive.

She laced her rosary beads through her fingers bowing her head, murmuring the Latin words as she closed her eyes. The rhythm of the words along with the sliding of her fingertips over each bead as she kept track of her prayers was comforting. It reminded her somewhat of the nights when she had shared vespers alone with the queen. Gwen remembered admiring Igraine's emerald rosary on more than one occasion. The queen explained that it had been a wedding gift from her father, something that she had treasured throughout the years. The same rosary had been placed in her pale, cold hands when she had been buried.

The sound of boots against the stone floor stirred her from her prayers. Still muttering the long memorized words she cracked her eyes open, watching as Arthur bowed once reaching the crucifix before coming to kneel beside her. She smiled to herself as he closed his eyes, clasping his hands. She returned to her prayers, comforted slightly by the prince's presence and the feel of his strong muscular shoulder touching hers silk-clad one.

**0o0o0**

Departing from Cameliard had been a hardship she hadn't wanted to even think about. It had been years since her last visit and she hoped that it wouldn't be as long before she would be able to take the journey once more. Traveling later that afternoon she pushed back any tears that threatened in the back of her eyes. She had seen her parents' resting place, spoke to them, prayed … It was everything she could have asked for.

Batilda knew better than to tempt her charge into talking, and instead held herself back rather discreetly from her mistress.

Arthur however wasn't known for being subtle.

"I'm sorry that we weren't able to stay for longer," he apologized as he drew his horse alongside hers. She nodded softly, her heart and mind still in the chapel.

He seemed to be searching for words. "Where did you obtain your rosary? I mean I noticed you didn't get it in Camelot. I remember you having it whenever mother would drag me to vespers."

She chuckled slightly, remembering quite well the bored looking Arthur that had had to attend two religious ceremonies in one day.

"It was a gift from my cousin, at my birth. King William of Mercia, my mother's first cousin." She frowned slightly. "Come to think of it, I have never met him. After mother's funeral him and my father drifted apart and lost contact." Her brief moment of joy was again extinguished.

The prince scrambled for a way to bring forth laughter from her lips again. "You're not missing much," the prince said, shrugging as he adjusted his grip on the reins. "He's a bit of a prat."

At this she surprised herself by laughing aloud.

She lifted up a hand to cover her mouth, trying to recollect herself as she began to notice the curious stares she was receiving from the knights trailing behind them. She shook her head, smiling outright now. "And who gave you the authority to dub others "prats"? What credentials do you come with?" She was rewarded with a cheeky smile.

"You and Morgana have been calling me that ever since you first arrived. I think I've acquired an expert recognition by now."

Feeling her melancholy leave her she did not even notice the satisfied expression on the prince's face at having graced him with her smile and laughter.

**0o0o0**

A small group of servants waited in the courtyard of the castle to help with the unpacking of the party's provisions and supplies. Morgana stood before the staff, stepping forward to embrace Gwen and her brother after they had dismounted.

"I trust your journey has been successful," she commented to Gwen as the pair watched the staff approach the riders.

"It was… enlightening," Gwen replied, unable to otherwise describe the trip in detail. Not only had she seen old friends and visited her parents, but her time with Arthur, the friend she grew up with, had sent her into confusion. His very actions around her recently had her wracking her mind as to why. The change in the behavior of the prince has pleasantly surprised her.

"Idiot!"

The pair watched as Arthur shoved Merlin aside. As Arthur's saddle was currently on its side on the stones, it appeared that Merlin had accidentally dropped it. Not noticing Morgana's reaction of reaching toward the servant, Gwen addressed the prince.

"It seems that the Arthur I have become acquainted with these past few days has been left at Camilliard," she chastised him, frowning at the man as Morgana led Merlin up the stairs into the castle. Merlin, for his part, didn't seem surprised at all that the princess was treating him in such a way. Had Gwen not been distracted by Arthur she might have questioned this.

Giving the silent prince another chastising look she followed the pair up the steps.

His Highness Prince Arthur had returned, apparently.

**0o0o0 **

Some time after supper Arthur found himself standing outside of Gwen's chambers.

He had honestly been trying to act as mature as possible during the week in Camilliard. He had never really been concerned about his behavior before and neither did any of his friends it would seem. Yet Guinevere out of everyone, besides his father whom the prince always hoped to impress, did not seem to appreciate it at all.

And she had gotten mad at him over Merlin. Twice!

The boy could really be a buffoon sometimes, _most_ of the time. Giving him a good yell now and then only did him good.

For anyone else he wouldn't have apologized.

Yet for Guinevere…

The question was _why_ for _her_?

It would be easy enough to obtain any other girl's approval. He had never had to even put in an effort before.

But Guinevere, the girl he had sparred against as a child and teased, would not spare him a second glance.

Was it because they grew up together?

Or was it her personality: the way she spoke, the way she acted? The natural grace that seemed to come from somewhere within her? Was it her kindness, her generosity, her ability to see the goodness in others? Her clear judgment of character?

_Well… Her beauty certainly helped._

He couldn't pinpoint his attraction toward her with a single trait. All of the above-mentioned combined must have influenced his sentiments.

All that he was certain of was that the little girl that his sister often had glued at her hip had suddenly turned into a young woman and his thoughts constantly strayed towards her.

Arthur raised his fist to knock at her door, preparing a speech in his mind to recite to her on why his behavior had been appalling that afternoon.

But his hand paused halfway to the door as he heard her laughter from within. Although the sound was muffled enough could be heard out in the corridor due to the keyhole.

"I think this dust will forever be on my skin," Gwen teased, earning a laugh from her nurse.

Arthur felt the color drain from his face.

She was bathing.

Instantly a wave of heat flew down his back.

No, no … he mustn't have impure thoughts now.

This was the girl he had grown up with!

Yet the sound of the tinkling water and her laughter was enough for him to picture her soaking beneath the water.

In that moment he envied terribly the man she married, knowing that he alone would be permitted to see what rested below the water.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped, taking a step back as he realized that Morgana was standing before him.

His sister gave him a puzzled expression.

"I, er…" he began, unable to think of a single excuse.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Move! I've got bath salts for Gwen."

The princess' elbow in his stomach alerted Arthur's senses enough to finally make him move away from the door.

She gave him another look of confusion before knocking.

Quickly Arthur strode from the corridor, deciding that a bath of his own might be wise before turning in for the night.

A cold bath.


	9. Chapter 8

AN: I'm close to finishing up "The Ward", and will begin soon on the follow up, "The Wife". Ah! I can't believe it. :)

I'm glad that those of you that are reviewing are enjoying it. It means a lot to me to see your comments. Thank you.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for being such a patient and wonderful beta.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"More like this, milady," instructed the brunette, rearranging Gwen's hands on the lute in her hands. Gwen stifled a groan of frustration over yet another correction, conveniently ignoring Morgana's badly concealed snort of laughter. The young woman rearranged her hands according to Lady Helen's instruction before strumming another imbalanced tune. The woman sighed.

"I suppose it is better," the woman sniffed, before turning to Morgana who hastily had to readjust her features so that the noblewomen wouldn't know that she had been making fun of her. Gwen listened halfheartedly to Morgana's playing as she stroked the smooth surface of the lute. Igraine insisted on an early start of girls' musical education but following her death their musical exploration had been put to the side. It was only a few years later that Uther decided that since it was apart of every accomplished noblewoman's repertoire, both girls should after all be schooled in playing at least one instrument.

Being perhaps the premier musician in Camelot she flaunted her status constantly and continuously. Being appointed as the music teacher of the princess and the king's ward had only added to her ego. Safe to say Lady Helen wasn't the most patient of teachers. Morgana liked to jest that if Lady Helen had been younger she would have turned out a perfect match for Arthur; their egos had no boundaries and would clash with attuned colors.

After a few more chords each the impatient teacher finally declared them finished for the day. The two young ladies gratefully put away their lutes thanking their tutor, who seemed to sincerely think that they were happy to have spent time with her admiring her _talent_.

The two exited Morgana's chambers, where the lessons had been held that day, and began the trek to Uther's rooms. Usually that the royal family plus Gwen took their supper together in the king's quarters, in a more familiar setting rather than the other more grand vicinities within the castle. The great hall was most often reserved for more formal dinners with the entire court celebrating visiting nobles and alias. During these cozy meals shared between the four the young participants would each update Uther on their daily activities before inquiring about the schedule for the next day. It was within these walls during these suppers that Gwen felt she could recognize the good man in the hardened stubborn king.

A tardy servant turned the corner before them, nearly colliding with the pair. He stumbled, grabbing onto the wall for support as he stared at them rather bashfully.

"Merlin!" Gwen exclaimed, laughing lightly at her friend. "Arthur chasing after you again?"

The movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention, allowing her to catch in time Morgana's reaction. The princess darted forward as if from instinct, her arm half reached out to him as if to catch him. The two locked eyes for a moment before Morgana quickly straightened up.

"We best hurry," she said brusquely, sweeping past Merlin. Gwen frowned picking up the train of her dress to hurry her pace.

It only struck her then. "Merlin filled in for your valet when I was visiting Cameliard, did he not?" she asked, taking note of her friend's sudden blush.

"He did," Morgana confirmed, looking anywhere but her friend. She nodded to the guard at the door who admitted them into Uther's chambers, effectively halting their conversation.

A warm smile broke onto the king's face at the sight of them.

"I trust your lesson with Lady Helen was successful?" he inquired taking a sip from his goblet.

The prince on the king's right side noticed how Gwen hiding a smile exchanged meaningful looks with his sister.

"She is very..._gifted_, Father," the princess replied, taking up her own goblet to prevent any laughter bubbling out at the thought of the diva.

"Arthur was just updating me on the Northern Borders," the king continued, nodding to his son. "But I have something that might interest you ladies more than news of patrols: we've received an invitation to the wedding of Prince Edgar of Clarence and Princess Vivian of Eastland."

Gwen felt herself sit up a bit straighter in her seat as her friend smiled brightly. "We haven't had a wedding in quite some time," she said, listening to her guardian with renewed interest.

Morgana picked up on the subject quickly. "You are permitting us to go, are you not?" There was a hint of a plea in her tone, influence from the early days as the little princess that received whatever she wished from her father.

Uther laughed sipping at his wine. "Of course Morgana. I wouldn't have brought it up if I weren't going to allow you. I know better than to tease you."

A snort was emitted by Arthur, who quickly occupied himself with adjusting his napkin in order to ignore Uther's look of disproval.

Morgana rolled her eyes at him while her father's back was turned.

"Is _he_ joining us?" she asked, clearly hoping that her father would not allow her brother to come along. The king nodded his head, oblivious at the moment toward his daughter's animosity toward her brother.

"I won't be attending; Sir Gregory will be visiting and I have matters that I need to discuss with him." He nodded toward his son. "Arthur will escort you and Guinevere there on my behalf."

Uther turned to hold his empty goblet out to a servant, and Morgana used this as an opportunity to openly scowl at her brother. He didn't seem bothered by it at all, and instead smiled smugly at her as if nothing was wrong.

Gwen watched their exchange, once again reminded of her own brother. It was hard not to think of Elyan whenever she saw Morgana and Arthur banter, which was often. The pair had their squabbles, but she knew that they would be the always help one another in the time of need.

"Princess Vivian isn't much older than you, Morgana," Uther commented in a teasing way as his youngest child looked up from her plate. "Who knows? Perhaps this time next year she will be the one attending your wedding."

Morgana laughed, although it sounded hollow. "Don't rush my time with you, Father," she answered, disguising her unease with a smile. Guinevere quickly looked away as Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly and the two exchanged looks across the dining table. Both could tell that Morgana wasn't too thrilled at her father's impending plans.

Yet all of them were aware, the two young women especially, that marriage was one of their most important duties set in life. Through marriage Camelot could strengthen its alliances, form new treaties avoiding blood shed and war. A simple wedding ceremony could ensure peace and prosperity for the people the king as a ruler was responsible for.

As the two girls departed from Uther's that night Gwen tried to cheer her friend up a bit and forget the topic of matrimony and duty. "I don't think your father is yet ready to give you away to some prince," she teased Morgana, nudging her arm slightly. "Anyway, I think Arthur's marriage is his priority now."

The two paused at the head of the staircase, turning to face each other.

"He'll have to search for the perfect noble."

She turned her face upward in an imitation of some of the haughtiest baronesses, eliciting a small chuckle from her friend.

"Whoever she is, I pity her. She shall constantly have to stroke his ego. Miserable soul."

Morgana elbowed her friend gently, laughing as they climbed the stairs leading to their wing of the castle.

"Don't let him hear that," Morgana advised as they stopped outside of Gwen's door.

The lady halted with her hand on the door handle. "Will you be joining me for vespers?" she asked, watching as Morgana winced.

"I won't tonight," she explained, toying with the edge of her sleeve in something of a nervous manner. "But perhaps tomorrow eve." She continued down the hall for her room. "Goodnight, Gwen."

After wishing her friend a 'good night' in return, Guinevere entered her chambers to find Batilda doing some last minute tidying.

"I believe there is a fresh veil in the clothes press, Batilda," Gwen addressed her nurse before crossing over to her vanity table. "Would you help me put it on, please?"

Igraine had always stressed to the girls never to go to the chapel bareheaded. Even though the former queen was no longer there to school her on proper etiquette she still felt as if she was doing something wrong whenever she went to mass without her head covered.

She sighed softly, enjoying the feeling of her nurse brushing her hair before the silk, oval veil covered them from view.

**0o0o0**

"There is a fresh batch of noblemen arriving on the morrow," Uther alerted his son as the two stood up from the table.

"Mmm."

Uther, finding his son's behavior rather amusing than disrespectful, gently smiled.

"They'll be arriving for their first test on the road to knighthood. However, unless they will be wearing dresses and have curly hair I doubt you shall spare them a second glance," finished the king, successfully catching his son's attention.

A flush graced the prince's features. "I have no idea what you mean," he protested, clearly knowing exactly whom his father was alluding to.

Uther smiled in a knowing way before clapping his son on his back. "Join me for vespers; it will relax you."

Arthur ducked out of his father's grasp, grinning. "I have drills to plan, don't I father? You said yourself that a new troop is coming in?"

Still smiling the prince exited the room, leaving the king to find his own words thrown back at him. Shaking his head at impertinent children he made his way to the chapel, pausing at the door to glance over the assembled congregation.

The elderly Baron Bors was kneeling in the first pew already bent over as if asleep. A few rows back was one of Morgana's maids, praying quietly as she awaited the service. And at the front opposite of Bors was a figure of absolute femininity already knelt in prayer.

For a brief second Uther's breath hitched as the king envisioned that it was Igraine.

But the vision was interrupted as the figure lifted her covered head, turning slightly to address the servant sitting beside her.

Guinevere.

Lately he had noticed how much she had taken after his late wife.

She had followed in Igraine's footsteps regarding her piety, unlike his own daughter. Morgana more often than not completely missed vespers for weeks at a time. Yet he nearly always saw Guinevere attending. She also held something of his wife's patience and gentle behavior.

Was it terrible that he thought his ward acted more like his wife than his own daughter?

He pushed away any guilt at this before taking up his seat, nodding to the bishop to begin the service.

**0o0o0**

"Are we almost there?" implored Merlin, resting rather dramatically on his horse as the small party made their way along the forest path.

Gwen bit back a giggle at the boy's antics as she prodded her horse onward. She could practically feel Arthur rolling his eyes.

"We aren't much closer than we were five minutes ago when you last asked, _Merlin_," he chastised, drawing out his servant's name. Morgana muttered something under her breath, most likely an insult regarding her brother, as she nudged her horse beside Merlin's.

The two exchanged hidden looks, almost completely oblivious to the others in the group. Gwen nudged her own mount alongside Arthur's in order to give them space, ignoring the troop of knights behind them. She wasn't sure what had changed between her friend and Arthur's servant, but she wasn't about to address it here.

"I've never witnessed a royal wedding before," she commented, her eyes straying from the armed men around them to their leader next to her. "I haven't seen any weddings, actually. Well, unless you count Sir Wilhelm and Lady Helena's." She laughed, sparking the male beside her to grin.

"Please. That wedding was a mockery. Wilhelm had to be practically carried all the way to the altar and I am sure he fell asleep during the service. Helena sliding the ring onto his finger was probably the only thing that woke him up." He shook his head, his tone taking on something of pity.

"Poor girl. But I suppose he'll be gone in a few years. She'll be an eligible widow by then... better off than she is now."

Gwen withheld a shudder. To marry someone so much older than her was a real possibility, although she would rather not. She pitied poor Helena who had to sleep beside a man who could barely walk due to his age.

"Well, I hope your father chooses a nice, young nobleman for me," she said, not noticing the glimmer of hope that formed on her royal companion's face. "Someone young, healthy, wealthy, someone who won't fall asleep before four in the afternoon," she teased, clearly listing every quality the elderly Sir Wilhelm lacked.

Arthur seemed to have recovered, and chuckled at her qualifications. "I don't think being the wife of a simple country lord would suit you," he baited the lady, causing her to tilt her head to the side slightly. "What you just described is someone of a higher standing than a simple knight."

She laughed, delighted in this game of make believe and fortune guessing. Somehow with her real marriage not on the line quite yet it was easier to joke about marital vows.

"Who would that be? A king perhaps?" She sat up a bit straighter in her saddle, putting on a haughty air. "I think I would make quite the queen."

The prince grew quiet and serious. "I think that you would."

Feeling a little uneasy that his mood had so suddenly changed she quickly switched topics, trying to forget what she had heard. Clearly she misunderstood him…

**0o0o0**

"You buffoon! Tis wrinkled? Can't you see?"

Guinevere winced as she and Morgana passed by an irate Princess Vivian who was, at the moment, shoving a slightly creased dress under a terrified servant's nose. The group had arrived at the castle of the groom-to-be earlier in the afternoon and just emerged from their rooms to converse with the gathered guests.

"I can hardly wear such a disaster to supper tonight. Tomorrow is my wedding day! The bride can't appear at the feast before her wedding in a wrinkled gown!"

The servant uttered hurried apologies before taking off running down the hall, obviously scared, with the offending garment in hand.

The two noblewomen quickly tried to disappear from the scene, not wanting to attract attention from the bride-to-be. But Vivian would have none of that.

"Morgana!" she exclaimed, as if nothing in the world pleased her more than seeing the young woman.

Camelot's princess winced slowly turning around, her grimace turning into a disguised fake smile.

"Vivian!" she replied, embracing the blonde stiffly.

Vivian obviously didn't pick up on Morgana's behavior as she had been too busy admiring herself on a newly polished plate that a different servant carried past them.

"I'm so pleased that you are able to attend the wedding," the princess gushed, looping her arm through a reluctant Morgana's.

"Edgar is a bore. If he wasn't a prince I don't think I'd have given him a second glance."

It was only at this time that she noticed Guinevere.

"And who is this?" she asked, watching as Gwen curtsied before her.

Morgana gratefully disentangled herself from Vivian's grip before going to stand beside her friend.

"This is Lady Guinevere Leodegrance. Her father was a nobleman at my father's court – the king's most loyal friend and knight," she explained as the princess scrutinized Gwen for a moment.

"It is wonderful to meet you, milady," Guinevere began, rising from her curtsey. "It is an honor to attend your wedding."

Gwen had supposed some kindness might soften the spoilt woman before her but apparently that was not the case.

The princess sniffed. "I've heard about you," she commented, clearly disinterested. "Uther is quite the generous man, raising an orphan, noble or not."

The sight of one of the servants unknowingly dragging the hem of a gown thrown over his arm sent the princess in a tizzy. "Alder, what are you doing!" she nearly roared, striding toward the horrified servant.

Morgana frowned at the disrespect shown toward her friend but didn't have a chance to retaliate as Guinevere nearly dragged her from the scene.

"Whoever this Edgar is, I pity him," Gwen added as Morgana nodded. The two tried to block out Vivian's screeching as they hastened their departure from her chambers.

**0o0o0**

The April morning of the wedding proved to be a balmy day. Gwen and Morgana chattered amiably as their maids helped with preparations for that afternoon's ceremony.

As Batilda laced her into her gown, a pale yellow creation with embroidery of silver thread, Guinevere realized with trepidation that her own wedding day could be approaching at a faster pace than she expected. At this moment, of course, she was being dressed as a guest, but would she be wearing the fine-laced robes of a bride in a month? Two months? She held her head a bit higher and took a deep breath. Whoever Uther chose for her she would have to go to without a fuss. That was the lot of noblewomen and their social circles, or women of their times in general.

Batilda wove pure white flowers through her charge's curls before helping the young lady standing up from her settee. While Gwen wore a crown of flowers, Morgana's brow was held together by the coronet representing the Princess of Camelot.

As so many guests had been invited to the event many nobles had had to double up on rooms. The two companions were pleased to share a set of chambers along with their maids, while Arthur had been stationed with Merlin. Imagining how Arthur had fared with Merlin chattering throughout the night on his bedroll on the chamber floor was something that amused Gwen immensely.

Morgana tugged open their door, nearly jumping as she found Arthur leaning up against the wall opposite it.

"I was going to lead you both to chapel," he explained, standing up straighter as he noticed Guinevere peek her head over Morgana's shoulder.

"Feeling chivalrous today, brother?" Morgana teased, smoothing down the sleeve of his tunic. He was currently garbed in his knight's wear, minus the heavy armor, complete with his new crown representing him as Uther's official heir.

The prince's eyes strayed from his sister to the young woman behind her, even as he addressed Morgana.

"Is it so unimaginable for me to act mature once in a while?"

Morgana laughed, clearly thinking that he was joking. Yet the solemn gaze her brother was currently giving Guinevere caused the young princess to reconsider Arthur's meaning.

He swiftly offered his arm to his sister and then following his other to Gwen. She gingerly took his chivalrous offering, barely daring to touch his strong upper arm with her fingertips. The two remained silent as Morgana chattered on the entire walk to the chapel.

**0o0o0**

The ceremony had been solemn, yet the feast that followed was one of the most boisterous events Gwen had ever witnessed. All around her guests were full with good cheer and, from the looks of some, filled with good wine. She and the Pendragon brother and sister had been placed alongside one another among other prominent nobles before the dais. Gwen sneaked a few peeks at the 'happy' couple seated at the center of the dais. Vivian was most often than not arguing with either a servant or complaining to her father, about something that Gwen could not distinguish from her distance. The blonde's new husband looked as if he was standing before his executioner all throughout dinner.

After the feast the dancing had begun, which left Guinevere itching to be out among the others. Out of propriety Arthur took Morgana first, prompting Sir Leon to attend to Gwen. More often than not the elder knight shared a dance or two with her whenever a feast was held in Camelot and when he had accompanied them as part of Uther's security force, he had been recruited yet again as her dance partner. As handsome as Sir Leon was, she knew that she felt no attraction for him. Although he was too polite to even consider such discussion with the young lady, she suspected that he too felt nothing other than friendship for her.

That still didn't stop the whispers around court, often during the periods of stagnant gossip. Guinevere had, with Morgana's help, learned to get past such things.

After a few dances she returned to their sitting area, taking a sip from her wine goblet hoping to get cooled down despite the stuffing heat.

As the night wore on she began to notice pairs of guests leaving the hall and reentering not too long afterward, usually more disheveled than they had looked when they first left. A blush stained her cheeks as she watched yet another eager pair dart from the room.

"You didn't think you would get through the night escaping a dance with me, did you Guinevere?"

She turned in her seat at his voice, smiling slightly at Arthur offered her his hand. She placed her goblet back on the table before graciously accepting her new dance partner.

Perhaps it was the wine, or the overall heat in the room, but she felt slightly more comfortable around him now. Why she hadn't been at ease around him lately she couldn't tell. But surely the change in his behavior around her was not just a figment of her imagination?

Maybe she had just made it all up.

Still even in her current state of lightheadedness she could feel his eyes on her as she followed the others in the steps. Gwen strayed perhaps an extra inch or two as she circled him, mimicking the movements of the other ladies as they twirled around their partners. She chanced a look at his facial features as the two took a step forward, their palms meeting before them.

There was that darkening look in his sapphire eyes again.

With her stomach fluttering anxiously she followed through the last of the dance, wishing that Morgana was still nearby. Speaking of, Gwen hadn't seen the girl for nearly an hour. And come to think of it, neither had she seen Merlin …

The group of dancers clapped in appreciation at the end of the song, giving Guinevere enough time to slip away from Camelot's prince. At this rate she much preferred retiring to her chambers, then remain beside the blond man currently staring holes into her back for a moment longer.

**0o0o0**

The party from Camelot had to wait alongside the other guests as rain kept anyone from leaving the castle on the morrow. It was a very convenient time for the storm, as this gave those suffering from their hangovers and nights of pleasure a time to recuperate.

It was early the following day that the group finally left the newlyweds and started upon the journey back to Camelot's great walls.

Catching glimpses of the couple the day after the wedding filled Guinevere's heart with dread. Would her own husband be a male equivalent to Princess Vivian? At least Edgar could assert himself over his wife's behavior, although he seemed reluctant to. But as a _wife_ Guinevere would have no such rights. She would have to put up with whatever her husband did, including any infidelities – such was the way of women. Batilda had long ago explained to her that when the time came for her to be married, Gwen would most likely have to turn a blind eye to such matters. It was what men did – their nature. It shouldn't be taken seriously by a dutiful wife.

Sir Leon, who had been at the head of the group that morning, raised a gloved hand silently for the party to halt. Even far behind the knight Gwen could hear the sound of rushing water.

The worried looking knight dismounted his horse approaching the rushing water stream. Gwen craned her neck in order to see why they had stopped and was only granted a better view when Arthur dismounted his horse ahead of her. The two men spoke quietly among themselves a moment before returning to the group.

"The river is too high," Arthur began, clambering back up onto his own mount. He wheeled it around to face the rest of them while Sir Leon remounted.

"We will have to double back and find another way. The rain has caused the waters to swell, and we can't risk crossing, especially with the supplies."

He nodded to one of the knights in the rear of the party to lead the group onward.

"I know another way," mentioned Morgana, causing her brother to halt his horse.

She seemed rather worried looking, but Gwen attributed it to the fact that they might now become lost.

"You do?" her brother asked, clearly surprised that his sister of all people would have such knowledge of the roads in a foreign kingdom.

She gestured behind them.

"The clearing that we rode through ... if we had gone left instead of right, we would have come across a bridge," she explained, fidgeting with the reins in her hands. "We can cross there."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "And how do you know that?"

A beat of silence rested between the two as the rest of the party watched.

"I heard some of the other guests speaking. One of them surmised that most of the rivers would be overflowing from the heavy rain," she shrugged, as if her knowledge wasn't that spectacular. Arthur considered it for a moment.

"Backtrack to the clearing," was his order, as the group turned their horses and start the trek backward.

Gwen glanced at her friend in concern but instead of meeting her gaze, found her eyes locking with Arthur's manservant in worry.

She rode past, going alongside Arthur as she contemplated her friend's odd behavior.


	10. Chapter 9

AN: Thank you for the kind reviews!

It came to my attention that one of the scenes in the last chapter had caused some confusion. When I mentioned Uther noticing that Gwen had become like Igraine, I did not mean it in the sense that he now is in love with her because she seems like his wife. I just meant it that she had picked up on some of the woman's qualities that made her such a good queen. I'm sorry if I confused anyone.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns "Merlin".

July was as warm as ever in Camelot that summer. Gwen found both herself and Morgana escaping to the nearby river that ran along the forest beyond the castle to dip their feet into the cool water.

Arthur would often accompany them when he had a chance to slip away from his duties. He would politely turn his back, often having to prod his manservant to do the same as the pair of ladies rolled down their stockings and removed their shoes to dip their feet. It was times such as these that Gwen envied the men of Camelot.

On extremely hot days she would see groups of knights returning from the forest, usually with soaking wet tunics covering their chests, laughing amongst themselves. She could never, ever do such a thing. To risk both her purity and reputation wasn't worth the moment of relief in the cool water.

After going to wade in the river with Morgana that afternoon Gwen returned to her own chambers to prepare for that night's supper. Batilda clucked over some imperfection that she had noticed on the lady's dress from her trip thought the bushes, but Gwen ignored the older woman's worry. She often teased her nurse good-naturedly that she worried more than a mother hen. Her attention strayed from her nurse's scolding, as it often had during her childhood, and rested on a gilt box beside her bed, resting on a small night table.

The box was circular in shape and smelted in silver. The gilded lid, catching the last rays that the sunset flung into the room, was embossed with a design of vines and leaves. Resting in side safe from any harm was the rosary that she prized. For her seventeenth birthday, which had passed nearly a month ago, Arthur had thoughtfully presented her with the rosary box. The box was fine and Guinevere had felt embarrassed to have accepted such a gift. She couldn't remember a time when Morgana, his real sister, acquired a present such as this from her brother. But the prince seemed genuinely pleased that she liked it and she did not have the heart nor will to decline.

She switched her gaze to her nurse, who having noticed that her charge's mind was elsewhere had ended her tirade with a sigh. "Come here, lamb," she beckoned the girl to the vanity table, a brush wielded in her hands. Gwen carefully took up her seat on the cushioned stool as the nurse lovingly drew the brush through her silken curls.

Shortly after her father's death the little lady would wake up in the middle of the night crying for Batilda, hoping against hope that the woman too hadn't left her. She was the closest thing to a parent she would ever get, especially after Igraine's death. Uther was something akin to a father to her, but he didn't have the bond from birth that she had with Batilda. And following his wife's death her guardian grew disconnected with the outside world; even his own children thought him a stranger at times.

Batilda laced her into a fresh gown of green silk, edged in embroidery of gold colored thread. The embroidery was continued up the sleeves of the gown where the sleeves were laced. The seventeen year old pursued through her jewelry chest for a piece to wear that evening, settling on a hair adornment embossed with emeralds. Her nurse carefully slid it into her dark hair, allowing the girl to have a look in the polished mirror before her.

Gwen turned her head to and fro to get the full idea, lamenting that after her marriage she would no longer be able to wear her dark tresses cascading free down her back. Her hair now, free from any wimple or other headpiece, was a clear mark of her status as a maiden. As soon as she became a wife she would either have to cover her head or wear her hair up: it was an ancient tradition so as to prevent young women arousing unchaste thoughts within men other than their husbands.

Of course, queens were more often than not permitted to wear their hair as they chose to. But unless Uther was planning on marrying her off to the new King of Cornwall, Mark, then she would have to resign herself to the change in her hair style. And unfortunately she's heard that the foreign king in question already picked a bride from the Irish Isles: Isolde the Fair was what they called her.

A small giggle burst from her lips at the very thought.

She, an orphan – a queen?

She would have thought becoming the wife of a baron was the highest rank she could attain through marriage. Becoming queen was just an unrealistic fantasy.

She brushed off Batilda's worrisome glance at her laughter, instead bestowing a filial kiss on the elder woman's cheek before wandering down the hall to the opposite wing of the castle where to Uther's rooms lay.

**0o0o0**

"If Alined thinks that such an offense will go unnoticed he is sorely mistaken," the king remarked, frowning over his goblet. His son nodded wordlessly, keeping one ear on his father and the other straining to listen to the ladies' conversation. He gave his father a serious look of contemplation to mask his distraction before holding out his goblet for a refill.

Merlin, clearly catching onto his master's lack of interest in current political affairs this evening, hid a smile before moving forward to refill the silver cup with wine.

He stepped back to the wall standing in place along with the other two servants, quietly observing the group. It was plain obvious to anyone that Arthur was enamored of Lady Guinevere. He had picked up on it his first week in Camelot, although it had been rather dangerous for him then to even mention it around the irate prince. But still the young wizard continued to prod at Arthur, slipping remarks about the color of Guinevere's gown, or sometimes the way her hair was fashioned that day. Arthur had come to accept these remarks for the most part, although on occasions he still gave his manservant a slap upside the head. Merlin figured, at this rate, that he would have a concussion by the time they married. How was he almost sure of the upcoming nuptials? Easy – the prince always got what he wanted.

He stepped forward to fill the king's goblet, knowing better than to expect Uther to bother signaling him for more of the vintage.

Uther, for his part, was more intelligent than young Merlin thought. He could clearly see through his son's attempt at being attentive. Had the boy forgotten that he had observed him often at his lessons, where he was clearly not retaining any knowledge from his tutors but instead daydreaming of the training fields beyond his chamber windows?

Yet he didn't call his son out on his behavior, as he knew quite well what, or rather _who_, the source of his son's distraction was. He had taken note of the extravagance of the birthday gift that Arthur had presented his ward with, although he had not publicly commented on it.

No. He knew how it was to be at such a spurring age, rebellious and full with vigor. If Arthur truly wished to believe that he was being subtle and secretive about his attraction to the lady then Uther would let him. What would be the harm? His son might enjoy his dalliances but to cause a scandal with a highly respected member of the court – his father's ward no less, was something he knew Arthur wouldn't dare to do.

And, by the look of the situation, the lady in question had no idea that the prince's romantic attentions had fallen upon her.

His gaze drifted from his adopted daughter to his second born child, causing a jolt to run through him. He would have to tell her; she would have to know why an envoy from Gore had arrived earlier in the week.

At the end of the meal he dismissed his ward and son, requesting that Morgana stayed behind. She gave him a hesitant smile and he could practically hear her mind running through any of her actions that might warrant an upbraiding. He sighed, nodding to the guard to close the chamber door.

**0o0o0**

Arthur purposely shortened his stride in order to fall in next to Guinevere. She glanced up, having seen him out of the corner of her eye, and gave him one of her small smiles. Lately, he had noticed that she hadn't been acting quite the same around him. She seemed...timid. Surely she wasn't feeling uncomfortable by his attentions? None of the other noblewomen he had courted had complained on the past.

"How faired your training today?" she inquired, and he instantly recognized her attempts at small talk. Guinevere was quite good at searching for topics to chatter about with visiting nobles, whether it be concerning the visiting nobles' new lands or families. She had a mind for detail, and often he had listened to her recall the name of this knight's wife, or the son of this baroness. She reminded him of a butterfly during courtly events, fluttering from one group of guests to the next.

He inclined his head slightly, trying to formulate a response that would put the new knights in a favorable light.

"There were only eight injuries today," he said, causing his childhood playmate to giggle.

"Well, I suppose that is an improvement from the near twenty of last week," she added, finding this new batch of knight-hopefuls to be rather amusing. How Arthur of all people had the patience to instruct them baffled her. Yet she would sometimes steal a few moments away from her embroidery or her catechism lessons with Morgana to take a glance out the window and observe the drills. For all of Arthur's brutish ways, he actually was very concerned about his knights. She would have liked to tell him that, but she feared that with his unusual behavior around her as of lately he might mistake her meaning.

What could he possibly be hoping to accomplish with his attentions?

He certainly couldn't fancy her. She had grown up with him, argued with him, ran races with him. They were childhood friends, and the thought of anything beyond was ludicrous.

The pair turned sharply at the sound of hurried footsteps.

A red faced Morgana nearly collided with them as she hurried along at a rather un-lady like pace toward her chambers.

"Morgana?" she called after the princess, but was given no reply. Panic flew into her heart as she turned to bid Arthur a hurried goodbye to follow her friend. However, his hand on her wrist kept her from moving.

"You should just give her a moment alone," the prince instructed, his gaze meeting hers as they stood alone in the corridor.

Silence.

He cleared his throat, reluctantly dropping her wrist. He moved to rest the same hand on his sword hilt, something of a nervous habit, but his hand fell to his side as there was no sword belt wrapped around his waist.

"Father alerted me earlier today that he had finalized Morgana's betrothal," he said quietly, turning his eyes to the other end of the corridor that Morgana had gone tearing through.

Guinevere felt her chest tighten.

"To whom?" she asked, worry clearly displayed upon her features. Poor Morgana... she had been so sure that Arthur would be the first to be married. She had thought that both she and her friend would at least have a few more years together in Camelot.

"King Ursien of Gore," he answered, quietly observing the young lady's reaction. "She'll be a queen... I don't know what she is so upset about."

A slight frown played upon Gwen's features.

"It could be the fact that she is leaving her family," she said with a sarcastic air, a bit of her annoyance slipping into her tone. "You have had more lessons in geography than either myself or Morgana, and yet even I know how far Gore is from here."

She left him quickly, not caring to see the prince's expression as she raced off to aid her friend.

She slowed her pace once she reached Morgana's chamber door, trying to collect herself before bringing a small fist to the wood.

"Morgana?" she called, hearing muffled voices inside. Thinking simply that Morgana was seeking comfort with her nurse she opened the door before slipping inside.

Two dark heads, bent together, looked up nearly in unison as she entered.

Arthur's manservant, Merlin, was seated beside Morgana before her empty fireplace, their hands entwined. She felt heat rush to her face as the two quickly broke apart. She stood there, dumbstruck, as the boy quickly murmured a 'goodbye' and bowed to the pair, the tips of his ears turning red. It wasn't until the chamber door closed with a 'thud' behind him that she found herself capable of moving her limbs.

She neared her long time friend, watching as the girl wiped away tear trails from her damp face.

"Morgana?" she started, unsure of what to address first.

The girl's marriage?

The relationship she had with Arthur's manservant?

Or the fact that she hadn't confided in her about it?

Morgana sighed heavily before rising from her chair. She crossed the chamber to the small ewer resting on the table of her receiving rooms, pouring herself a portion.

"I know that to marry is one of the most important duties in this world for a woman," she began, her voice sounding small. She slowly turned back to her longtime friend, her pale hand clutching the goblet tightly. "It's been hammered into me since I've been old enough to talk. I've been expecting it. There was a point where I couldn't wait for it. I just..." She paused, forcing herself to take a swig from the goblet in order to keep her tears back. "Things have changed."

Morgana took up her chair once more, staring into the remnants of that morning's fire.

"To be in love..." She cut herself off, a dry laugh escaping her throat. "It's something that I never dreamed would happen to me. My parents were lucky that their marriage turned into a love match." Her blurry eyes flickered up to Gwen's blank expression. "As were yours. But not all of us are so lucky."

She exhaled with a shudder and Gwen saw once again the little girl that had watched with tear filled eyes as Queen Igraine had been lowered into the chapel floor. "Gwen...I can't do it. I can't go to Gore, become queen, go to Ursien's bed." She rose quickly, startling the young girl as she gripped her forearms. "I can't. Not when my heart remains in Camelot."

Wordlessly Guinevere embraced her friend, brushing back her hair as the girl she considered her sister cried into her shoulder.

It was around a half an hour later that the two were seated before the fire in silence once more, Gwen in Merlin's vacant seat. Morgana had dismissed her nurse and forbade any other servants from entering. She had scared a poor little page nearly to tears with her cold expression.

Finally Gwen voiced the question that had been on her mind since catching the pair in such an intimate moment.

"How did this come about?" she inquired, barely above a whisper so as to not disturb the silence of the room.

Morgana refrained from glancing up at her, and instead kept her focus on the ashes piled in the fireplace.

"It had been when you and Arthur had gone to Cameliard," she began, her hands tightening slightly on the arms of her chair. "Gareth, my valet, had been sick so Merlin filled in for him. You weren't around, Arthur wasn't around... I needed to talk to someone." A ghost of a smile slid across her face. "He really is a charming young man; Arthur doesn't give him enough credit. He understands me; I understand him."

Yet her moment of amusement vanished as she continued.

"But I must disclose something else to you to fully understand my situation: I've been having dreams. Strange dreams." The princess shook her head. "I see, events, people... Then it could be the next day, or perhaps the next week, and the dream is suddenly made into a reality." She finally met Gwen's gaze, watching as her friend's face began to take on a serious expression. "I was crying out in my dreams and he helped me Gwen. He didn't yell, didn't accuse me of being a traitor to the kingdom because of my abilities. He understood." Morgana's lips turned into something of an ironic smile.

"How do you think I knew of the other path after we left Vivian's wedding?" she asked, watching as

Gwen's eyes widened in understanding. Quickly, however, the young ward began to shake her head. "Surely, it was just a coincidence," Guinevere began, inching closer in her seat toward her friend. "You truly must have overheard it from another guest."

Morgana shook her head, her voice growing rather adamant. "I first thought the same thing when they started. I must have been having them for about six months now." She paused, sipping from her goblet to wet her parched throat. "You don't understand what it is like to have to hide who you are. And if Father had ever found out..." She burst into tears, causing Gwen to wrap her arms around her once more.

"I began to wonder," she went on, gulping down air between sobs, "that perhaps Father hated magic to such an extent that he would put his own daughter to death."

The princess sobbed into her friend's shoulder, both afraid to contemplate the answer to Morgana's fears.

**0o0o0**

In celebration of the princess' betrothal, Uther had announced a tournament to be held for nearly a week. Days after the announcement knights and other nobles began pouring in from the outlying territories to win fame, gold and glory from the event.

Meanwhile, Guinevere spent as much time as possible with her 'sister' now, and often shirked her lessons and other duties to simply sit with her. The two often opened Morgana's chamber windows to observe the knights practicing below while they chattered. Their conversations truly had no point to them. One day it would be about the color of Lady Helen's scarf and the next about some memory of their childhood. It only mattered that they were together, memorizing each other's voices and expressions, knowing that they would be parted for who knew how long. Morgana was Gwen's closest friend in this world, and she could honestly not picture her life without the fellowship of the princess.

The day prior to the tournament Guinevere found herself developing a cough. She tried her best to hide it but, after years of picking up the girl's tricks, Batilda had caught her muffling one into a handkerchief.

The following morning only brought on a heavier cough along with a feeling of vertigo whenever she attempted to stand. She argued quite heavily with her nurse once the woman banned her from watching the event until she was silenced by Gaius' strict words. Finally, Uther intervened, instantly listening to his loyal physician's advise and ordered his ward to retire to her rooms for care. Reluctantly the lady kept to her bed while she knew the rest of the court was reveling in the tournament and following feasts.

It was during the second day of the tournament that Gaius updated her on the proceedings after he had bled her.

"The princess made quite a statement yesterday," he began, wiping away the trails of blood that the leeches had left behind. Gwen finally turned her face to look at Gaius, having trained her eyes on the ceiling so as not to see the strange creatures.

"I wouldn't expect any less from her," she commented, feeling pride well up inside of her at the thought of her friend's resistance.

Gaius chuckled as he tucked the jar of leeches back into his leather bag.

"She wore all black, as if she was in a state of mourning," he regaled before shouldering the bag. "Uther was quite upset at her choice but to comment on it would have been to acknowledge why she had chosen such a color." He shook his head. "King Ursien will not know what to expect."

**0o0o0**

"They will be starting soon," Gwen reminded her nurse, nearly bouncing on her stool like a child as she waited impatiently for the woman to finish her hair. Her movements caused the velvet skirt of her gown to form little waves. The fabric had been a gift of the king for her birthday and the dress had only now been finished. The lavender skirt opened up to fresh, white silk beneath it. Her bodice consisted of more white silk while the bust area was outfitted in the lavender velvet. The white sleeves trailed down her sides, as was the current fashion, and were trimmed with lavender embroidery. It was, by far, one of her favorites. She could almost feel the Batilda's eye roll as she finished smoothing down the young lady's curls.

"They aren't going to vanish in an instant lamb," she chastised her before tapping the young woman's shoulder to signal that she had finished.

Gwen quickly stood up making her way to the door.

The woman trotted after her, worry in her tone.

"And refrain from dancing too much! Ye've just recovered and I won't see you falling sick again!"

Gwen flashed her nurse a smile in acknowledgment before walking as quickly as she could down the corridor. After nearly a week of being shut up in her rooms she was starving for human interaction. Batilda wouldn't be attending, so the older woman wouldn't know exactly how many dances she had participated in. She smiled mischievously before turning a corner, nearly colliding with a man in an orange tunic.

She stopped short, throwing her hand out to the wall to steady herself lest she fall on her backside. The man quickly reached out to steady her as he began to apologize.

"Milady, please forgive me," he began, letting go of her quickly as soon as she had been righted.

Gwen looked up in embarrassment, meeting a pair of kind eyes. The man was clearly a noble by the crest displayed on his knights' tunic, yet she couldn't recall ever seeing him before.

She smiled warmly, nodding her head slightly. "No, no. The fault was mine. I was merely running late and I-"

She paused, seeing that his eyes were still trained on hers.

A blush graced her cheeks as she carefully curtsied.

"I am the Lady Guinevere, ward to the king," she introduced herself, watching as the brown haired young man gently smiled.

He bowed at the waist before taking up her extended hand to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"And I Sir Lancelot."


	11. Chapter 10

AN: A few more chapters and we will get to one of my favorite parts. :P

Thanks to those that have reviewed.

Beta-ing by Guardian Izz.

Disclaimer: BBC owns Merlin.

Tournaments were without a doubt one of Arthur's favorite pastimes. Even as a child he had liked to showcase his skills and now, as full-fledged knight, he was able to display his prowess to the entire court. The prize often was of little matter; it was the glory that came with the title of _victor_ that the warrior prince sought. He had always aimed to impress, especially his father. To have Uther acknowledge his heir's achievements made him feel as if the sun was finally out of the clouds and shining on him and him alone.

Morgana was clearly upset throughout the entire week of the tournament, yet Arthur truly did not know what to do about the situation. He had tried speaking to his father on choosing another candidate but the older man had simply shut him out. There wasn't much else he could do to comfort his sister as the sentimental sphere of life was often neglected by men of his standing. He couldn't suddenly step into Gwen's role and serve as a shoulder to cry on.

Guinevere.

He had been terribly disappointed that she hadn't been able to witness the tournament. Merlin informed him that Gaius had been administering the medication for her illness, and that to have her up and about at such a stage would only make the sickness escalate. It still didn't stop the prince from worrying and hoping that she might get better before the end of the tournament.

And, miracle of miracles, she had.

He had fought harder than before during this tournament and put a true effort into ensuring that he would make it to the finals. He needed her to see him win. It was vital for her to behold him in all his glory doing what he does best. He wanted to see her stunned by his power, respect shining through her doe eyes.

Arthur waited impatiently in the great hall, trying to avoid making small talk with the other nobles. He wanted to be the first one to converse with her once the lady arrived.

His face visibly brightened as he saw her enter the hall. Her hair, which he wished to bury his hands in, was gathered over to the side of one of her shoulders, lively curls following the soft line of her neck and shoulder. His eyes feasted on the part of her neck revealed to the naked eye. So glad he was to see her that it took him a moment to realize that the recently recovered lady was already on the arm of another knight.

And not just any knight – Lancelot – the noble he was to face in the finals the following morning.

Arthur gritted his teeth before turning away so as to avoid witnessing the barely disguised look of adoration that was currently on Lancelot's face. He had seen men giving Gwen appreciative glances over the past few years, but had thought nothing of it till these past months, his focus straying to his father's ward for quite some time now, he realized. Now every time another man's eyes lingered just a moment too long on her delicate features, it made him want to throw down his gauntlet. Was he being dramatic? Probably. These sudden impulses were the result of recently discovered feelings he had never felt before, about anyone or anything.

He grabbed a goblet from a nearby servant's tray before taking a rather large swig from it.

"You're not a very pleasant drunk," his manservant commented as he came to stand beside him. "So I don't think you being a _jealous_ drunk will be any better."

Arthur frowned before glancing over his shoulder at the boy. "Shut up, Merlin," he answered, finding his eyes straying to the pair despite his earlier refusal to look at them. He made a mental note to cause some serious physical damage to this Sir Lancelot, within reason yet leaving a mark.

Guinevere felt self conscious under the gaze of the man beside her. He was, undoubtedly, handsome and it made her feel flustered that he was paying her so much attention. She saw one of the court ladies lean to whisper something to another courtier, their eyes trained on Gwen and her companion. No doubt the following morning rumors would be flying about the king's ward and the handsome newcomer. She felt a blush tint her cheeks.

He led her up to the dais, relinquishing her hand. She smiled softly. "Thank you," she said, as he bowed before her and retired to his own seat. She kept her gaze turned downward as she took her seat next to Morgana - the princess was visibly amused perhaps for the first time since her father had announced her betrothal.

"It seems that the newest addition to Camelot's finest has taken a shine to you," she teased her friend as the young woman placed her linen napkin in her lap.

"He was just accompanying me to the feast," the girl insisted, raising her gaze. "I nearly knocked him over hurrying here; it was nice of him to even talk to me after that."

Morgana gave her a knowing smile as she quickly brushed aside the girl's excuse. Her attention flew from Gwen to the dark haired boy passing by the dais, who was giving the princess a thinly disguised look of longing.

Guinevere glanced back and forth between the two before nudging her Morgana to break her reverie. "You had best watch yourself," she murmured, before standing as the king entered the hall. After Uther had taken his seat and gestured for the rest of the company to do the same the lady leaned over to the princess once more. "Your father might not punish you for it, but I don't think he would have any qualms about punishing Merlin."

Morgana seemed to ignore her words, although she did resist looking over at the young man when he attended a nobleman close to their table.

They spoke of nothing of importance throughout the meal in order to avoid mentioning their limited time together. Instead, Morgana regaled the events of the past week to her friend as the feast went on around them. Gwen ate sparingly, unable to stomach the thought of a full meal after nearly a week of sipping broth. The very sight of the quail being paraded toward the dais sent her stomach in somersaults.

Yet despite her reluctance to eat, she was nearly itching to begin dancing once more. After being cooped up in bed for so long she wished to stretch her limbs with the kicks and turns of the dances. As soon as the musicians began to strike up a song she felt excitement well up in her chest. She was too focused on letting loose some of her pent up energy that she didn't notice the gaze of the brown haired noble she had met earlier. It only took Arthur holding out his hand to her to break her from her fog.

Despite herself she felt her brow furrow in confusion.

Normally the prince opened any feast with a dance with Morgana. It was something of a tradition and, as Morgana was first lady of the court, it was her privilege. However this night Uther had already led the princess over to some guests mingling before the musicians playing their tune. She wordlessly took his hand, mentally taking note that his gaze upon her seemed more intense than usual this night. They joined the other dancers, bowing and curtseying respectively before joining the dance. As the pair took a step in toward each other, palms forward, he whispered.

"When were you introduced to Sir Lancelot?"

Her eyes widened slightly as she took a step back, completing a turn with the rest of the ladies in line before returning to connect their palms together once again.

"What does it matter?" she asked, standing still as he completed his own circle as dictated by the dance. He tried to appear indifferent as he shrugged beneath his tunic.

"I've heard things regarding his character," he commented before they parted once more. Once they were reunited he continued. "He's a bit of a rogue. I want you to stay away from him."

Annoyance reared up in her chest. Who was he to tell her what to do?

"I think that you may have forgotten, Arthur, that you are not yet king," she chastised, trying to keep from frowning. The curious eyes watching the prince and the king's ward would certainly draw wrong conclusions from any obvious emotion she exhibited. "If _The King_ has reason to believe that my association with this man should cease, then I will refrain from speaking to him."

She fell into a graceful curtsey, one ingrained within her since childhood, as the song ended.

"But until your coronation is upon us, my lord, your words are simply advice and not orders."

She ducked away from him before he had a chance to pull her into another dance. Instead she melted into the crowd to search for a quiet place to slow the thudding in her chest.

How dare he? She could understand that Arthur was concerned about her; she considered him a brother and expected such protective behavior from him. But to go as far as to degrade the man's character in front of her? The jealousy that he had for his competitor fairly disgusted her. Did he expect to act the same way once becoming king?

She drifted through the crowd before feeling a gentle hand on her elbow.

"Milady."

She smiled shyly as she discovered it to be Lancelot.

Really, Arthur was overreacting. Lancelot was simply being polite to her. He must know how mortified she was to have nearly knocked him over.

"Would you care to join me for this dance?" his eyes locked with hers.

Her earlier stance faltered for a moment. Was he flirting with her, after all?

She had been in the court for long enough to notice it. But to think that this nice young man was playing the age old game of flirtation with her was almost difficult to believe. She turned her head slightly, feeling someone's eyes boring a hole into her back. It was clear from her obscure angle that Arthur was staring at them.

"I would love to," she said, carefully placing her hand in his.

Guinevere refused to look back at the prince, reveling in the chance to flaunt the lack of authority that he had over her. She knew it was spiteful, but she wasn't Arthur's responsibility. It was time for him to be reminded of that.

**0o0o0**

Uther barely withheled a chuckle at the sight of his eldest child openly glaring at the young knight. At first when he had noticed his son's behavior at the start of the feast he had guessed that the boy's ire had been because Lancelot was his opponent. But the young man didn't seem to be just his opponent on the tournament grounds, but in matters of the heart as well.

The king had noticed for some time now that Arthur's interest in his young ward grew and graduated rather than declined. Yet she, as far as Uther could tell, had not yet interpreted his actions and intent looks. Perhaps she thought him a little overbearing, but the king doubted that his innocent ward knew exactly _what_ Arthur desired.

The ruler of Camelot sipped from his goblet amused. Arthur had always been popular among the court ladies, yet it seemed that he had encountered a problem with this particular maiden; she didn't seem to be the least bit interested. He thought idly as he watched the two. Arthur's gaze was glued to Guinevere as she was led to the floor by the new nobleman. What had his name been? Lancelot.

With Morgana's marriage looming he knew he would then have to turn his attention to making matches for his son and ward.

Would it be possible to simply pair the two together?

It wasn't the first time that this thought had crossed his mind. He and Igraine had considered it once or twice but nothing had been decided and then his queen died.

Such a match would be extremely convenient. Not only did he not have to relinquish Guinevere's lands for such a marriage, but he would also not have to worry about _heirs_ by the look of his son's clenched jaw every time their hands had touched while dancing. She might not be as well bred as perhaps a princess from a foreign land, but she had after all been educated and approved of by the late queen. There were times when Uther thought that his adopted daughter acted more like his wife than his actual child.

His attention turned to the young man leading her through the myriad of turns and twists with the rest of the guests. Now that Guinevere was getting older such men had to be closely watched and she needed to be protected. The king made eye contact with an elderly man, prompting Geoffrey of Monmouth to approach him.

"Sire?" he asked, his voice slightly grave from age.

"I wish for you to find out all that you can about this Sir Lancelot," he ordered, nodding toward the man currently bowing to Guinevere.

"My ward is an innocent girl, Geoffrey."

He set down his empty goblet, a slight frown on his face.

"Any male attention toward her needs to be investigated."

**0o0o0**

It wasn't long before sunrise that Arthur found his feet leading him to the wing of his old chambers rather than to the tournament grounds. By all rights he should be getting in a few practice blows before the last match of the day, yet his head nor his heart were up for it. Guinevere's open defiance had plagued him long into the night and, despite his irritation toward her refusal of his request, he found himself craving for her forgiveness. (And if he was entirely honest with himself, it also aroused his other desires.)

What had she told him once?

_His behavior was not befitting for the future king._

That had been it.

But he had an ulterior motive to this sudden apology. He had hoped that perhaps she would be impressed with his humble behavior, and allow him to wear her favors for luck in the tournament. He could only imagine Lancelot's stunned expression when the nobleman saw the prince wearing a scrap of cloth matching the attire of the king's ward.

As he neared the young woman's chambers his pace slowed. The door to her receiving rooms was open on a glint, most likely left like that by an errant servant. He raised his fist to knock despite the door being open, not wanting to seem even more a brute by barging in.

His fist froze mid air.

She was facing away from him, toward her window that overlooked the courtyard. The sun, which had just risen from its dwelling behind the cliffs far away, illuminated her face and hair as she stood before the glass. One slender hand rested on the casings of the window, as if she would rather be outside bathing in the sun's rays than watching them veiled behind the glass.

His attention only then drifted from the way her hair looked in the light to her attire.

Her nightdress looked to be a lightweight fabric, adorned with a lace pattern. He had truly never believed something could look so desirable and delicate at the same time.

As he had pondered when hearing her in the bath, again he thought of how it would feel to run his hands along her bare skin. She looked so soft, so gentle, so ... Gwen.

A movement from within the room woke him from his stupor. Quickly he ducked away from the room in order to avoid detection by either the object of his affection or her nurse.

As he hurried to the training grounds he felt determination well up inside of him.

Now he had more of an incentive than ever to win.

**0o0o0**

Guinevere carefully adjusted her skirt after taking her seat in the Royal Box at the head of the tournament arena. Her eyes scanned the crowd for a moment before resting upon the entrance gate. She had yet to see how this Lancelot fought, although logic told her that he must be rather good if he had managed to get to the finals with Arthur.

The winner's bounty rested on a cloth covered table beside the king's throne: a rather expansive bag of gold coins. Really, it could be either Arthur or Lancelot who walked away with the prize that morning. Morgana appeared beside her a moment later, rather quiet as she stared blankly out at the crowd.

Gwen knew better to comment. As this was the last day of the festival, the princess' departure would be on the morrow.

A clanking of metal armor signaled the entrance of the two competitors. Both carried their helmets under their arms, their swords in hand as they surveyed the crowd. Guinevere clapped politely for the two young men as she felt apprehension well up inside of her. For some reason Arthur had something against Lancelot. She sincerely hoped that he fought to win that day, and not for revenge.

Both knights approached the royal box, waiting for the king's speech. Yet Uther remained absent.

The young lady Guinevere hid a frown as a quiet murmur spread through the tribunes. The king never missed a tournament, especially a battle in which his son participated. She quietly observed the pair as they stood before the empty throne. Arthur stood with the stance of a soldier, confident, seemingly unyielding. Gwen had seen his fighting skills progress throughout the years and she did not doubt that he would serve Camelot well as a mighty warrior king with his vast army. The young nobleman next to him also seemed stoic, but she detected a bit of nervousness in him as his eyes scanned the view before him.

The crowd stood as Uther appeared at the head of the arena, yet he made no move to enter it. Instead he gestured with his right hand, sending a small troop of guards into the arena. The dueling pair turned to bow to the king but halted at the sight of the armed men.

The king's voice boomed over the arena.

"The punishment for impersonating a member of the nobility is imprisonment," he announced, causing the crowd to resurrect their murmur. Gwen felt the blood drain from her face. He couldn't be talking about Lancelot? Her eyes flickered over to the knight who was still standing erect, his expression unreadable. The king approached the boy as two guards grabbed his forearms.

Arthur stepped forward, a frown of confusion painted across his features.

"Father, what is the meaning of this?" he inquired, shifting his helmet in his grasp. "He had his papers of no-"

Uther shook his head, cutting his son off.

"I had Geoffrey check his 'papers'," he sounded disgusted, as if he was speaking to a squished bug underfoot. "There is no such son named 'Lancelot' of Northumbria."

The crowd quieted instantly at this knowledge, hundreds of eyes turning to the pretender.

Despite this utter embarrassment, Lancelot seemed to be holding himself well.

"I am deeply sorry if I have offended you, sire," he began, his voice clear sounding despite the situation. Gwen knew that if it had been her she would be quaking in fear of Uther's punishment. The king had already shown how cruel he could be.

"But I knew that I could win this competition, despite having not been raised a noble and trained as such." His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to find those to support his cause. "I have seen many a man who would make a fine knight, despite his lack of noble birth." Understanding shone in a handful of spectators' eyes, but those who sympathized with the new prisoner didn't dare risk voicing their thoughts.

Gwen felt her hands grasp at the arm rests of her chair, as if willing Uther to forgive the brave man by holding on even tighter.

Yet it was not to be so.

Uther sneered down upon the boy.

"Take him away," he barked to the guards, causing the two men to escort their cooperative prisoner from the arena.

Uther turned to face the crowd, a trace of his displeasure still upon his features.

"As the finalist was found to be a traitor to the court, our second finalist will be announced the winner of this tournament." A smile finally slipped onto the king's face, as if the whole incident had never happened. "Arthur Pendragon!"

The crowd clapped tentatively for the winner before finishing with gusto after the anxiety of the situation had worn off.

Arthur, for his part, seemed to be holding up well against this sudden change in the competition. But to Guinevere's surprise he did not look pleased by this, but puzzled. But now was not the time to question his reasons.

Slowly he warmed up to the decision before raising his sword in the air to salute the gathered crowd. Uther clapped him on the back, jostling the unsuspecting young man slightly as they left the arena.

**0o0o0**

As the final feast of the festival was not to be held until that evening, the members of the royal family had retired to their own devices for the rest of the afternoon, as did the residing courtiers. Knowing that now was the time to catch Arthur before he went off to drill the knights, Guinevere broke away from Batilda to follow the prince.

It was not Arthur, but Merlin who noticed the noblewoman trailing them.

"Milady," he acknowledged her with a bow, prompting Arthur to turn around to see her.

Something unreadable flashed in his eyes for a moment. Was it excitement? She didn't bother to decipher it as she launched into her tirade.

"You must get your father to change his decision," she ordered, watching as his expression morphed into one of amusement.

"And why would I do that?" the prince questioned as he shouldered open the door to his chambers. Both the servant and ward followed him inside, watching as he threw his discarded gauntlets upon the table.

She crossed her arms, trying to not appear childlike in her clear disapproval.

He watched her silently as Merlin quickly undid the straps of his armor. The boy seemed absorbed in the buckles of the armor, but both the prince and noblewoman knew that he was listening intently.

"Because it is the right thing to do. From what I've heard, he is an excellent fighter." She lifted her chin a bit higher. "I've heard talk that he is perhaps even better than you."

Arthur's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Then you must have heard wrong," he corrected her, shrugging the chain mail off before handing it to Merlin, who's arms were already filled with the discarded armor. "If we had fought I would have defeated him."

Merlin placed the armor in order on the table's surface, not looking up at the two as he spoke. "I don't know about that. Lancelot... he was really good." The prince gave him a glare, which didn't seem to bother the boy at all. "Just stating the facts is all," he added, grabbing a cloth before beginning to polish the metal.

Gwen sighed and took a step closer to him, stopping right before the prince to look up at him. There was a considerable height difference between them, yet this didn't make her feel daunted in the slightest.

"So there was a legitimate chance that Lancelot might have defeated you. It's a shame that you didn't stand up to your father."

She hadn't, in her anger, noticed how close she was. But naturally Arthur did. His head nearly dipped lower for a moment before he caught himself.

"It is a shame that we will never find out," he retorted, throwing her own words back at her. "And what do you mean, 'stand up' to my father? Lancelot clearly broke the rules; imprisonment was to be expected."

Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized how close she was to him at that moment. She could nearly feel the heat emitted from his skin, ensconced beneath his tunic and breeches. His scent was so … so Arthur.

But her anger at this latest injustice was enough to keep her mind from focusing on the aspects of her childhood friend that shouted 'full grown gorgeous man'.

"Yet he was perhaps more noble in his behavior than quite a few barons of the court," she explained, noticing Merlin pausing in his polishing out of the corner of her eye. She suspected that Morgana would know of this argument within the hour. "I thought you, of all people, would hold chivalry to the highest of standards."

The tension was becoming too much even for Guinevere's innocent self. And so she retreated to the door, feeling that she could breathe once more.

"Do you fancy him? Is that it?"

His question stilled her hand upon the door. She pivoted to face him once more.

_Did she? Lancelot was pleasant, polite, obviously brave … but …_

"No," she replied, feeling quite confident with her answer. "I do not. He is a pleasant man, but..." She shook her head.

"Then why are you so concerned?" he inquired, something akin to relief flashing across his features for a second.

She pondered this for a moment. Why did she care?

Honestly, this man had nothing to do with her. Yet knowing that he was so kind and brave… He shouldn't be punished for attending a competition that he clearly had the skill to go through with, despite his low birth.

"Because it is the right thing to do," she answered, realizing that she didn't sound like herself.

She sounded older, serious.

She unconsciously held herself up a bit straighter, exhibiting some of the traits she had admired in the long past queen.

"I thought that you, the future king, would desire the same thing." She opened the door. "But it seems I was wrong."

She left the silent prince, who, caught up in her words, didn't notice the curious stare his manservant gave him.

**0o0o0**

Lancelot found his eyes drawn once more to the scattering of hay that lined the floor of his cell. Was he to count them again?

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

He knew entering the competition would be foolish, but it had been too good to pass up. He had sincerely hoped that once the king had seen his skill his family's standing wouldn't be of consequence. He kicked the pile of straw in a fit of annoyance. Obviously he had had his head up in the clouds.

The clanging of keys in the lock of his cell caught his attention immediately. The door swung open, revealing the prince standing before the exit with a satchel in his hands. The two men, competitors only hours earlier, locked gazes for a beat.

Finally the prince spoke. "If you leave now, you might be able to reach the border by nightfall."

Without warning Arthur tossed a bag towards Lancelot, who caught it swiftly. Metal clanged inside, the sound of coins. The winnings of the tournament's victor.

Lancelot furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the other man. "What-"

"I've spoken to my father," he continued, remaining at the exit of the cell. He seemed a bit like a child that was told to apologize. "He has decided to reduce your sentence to exile. If I were you, I would leave before he changes his mind."

The other man stared at him, dumfounded.

"Why would you do this? I mean, I'm grateful, but it is a surprise."

Arthur shrugged, jiggling the key-ring in his hand. "Let's just say there is a maiden within these castle walls that is too kind for her own good." He gave the other man something of a half smile before leaving the still shocked young man in the open cell.

Lancelot forced his limbs to work through his shock as he pawed through the contents of the satchel. Along with a cloak and a bit of food and water was a velvet pouch. The weight of it, along with the noise, alerted the noble-pretender that it held coins. A wistful smile appeared on his lips before he darted from the cell.

**0o0o0**

The blazing summer was relentless against his metal covered skin that next afternoon. His armor felt heavier than ever as he trudged over to the fence outlining the training grounds where he knew Merlin would be waiting with a jug of water. He tugged his helmet off of his head; his sweat drenched locks sticking to his forehead.

Yet it wasn't his rather large-eared servant that met him but Guinevere. Her gown, a peach creation, along with the flowers woven into her hair made her almost look ethereal. Perhaps it was the sun, but she did look like something that didn't quite belong in this world.

The lady held out a goblet of water to him, which he took gratefully. She watched him silently as he downed it nearly in one sip before handing him a cloth to wipe at his face.

"Thank you."

She didn't elaborate, and she had no need to; he understood.

She stood outside for the rest of that afternoon's drills, watching with something akin to pride in her eyes.

Arthur felt as if he could float; he felt invincible. The bruises he earned that day from his carelessness wouldn't matter; her appraising looks were more than enough for a consolation. Her shining eyes would be what he saw in his dreams that night.


	12. Chapter 11

AN: This is one of my favorite chapters. I think you will see why.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Dislcaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

A thick layer of snow blanketed Camelot, just in time for the Yuletide celebration. In the courtyard below her window knights trudged through the snow, clapping their gloved hands from time to time in an attempt to keep them warm. Gwen's attention was not on the cold, however, but on the snowdrifts that were scattered over the gardens. As children she, Morgana, and Arthur had 'borrowed' shields from the armory to slide down the surrounding hills. She would often find herself head over heels in the snow after a particularly fast flight down the drifts. It had all been in a good fun; the three friends would return to the castle with rosy cheeks and smiles.

A pang went through her heart as she turned away from the frosted window. Was it snowing in Gore now? She wondered if Morgana too was watching the snowfall and reflecting on the joys of their childhood. Her stomach clenched at the very thought of her friend's sorrow. Morgana had been sent along to Gore in mid November to be settled before the wedding. Both Guinevere and Arthur, acting as Uther's representation, had planned to follow shortly afterward to attend the ceremony. But to their great disappointment an early winter storm kept them from attending. She could only imagine how Morgana must have felt to find out that two of the closest people in her life would not be able to support her on that momentous day.

The lady's eyes darted over to a folded parchment sticking out from her jewelry chest. With nimble fingers she extracted it, unfolding the paper as she smoothed it. She had written to Morgana as often as possible, but had only received one single letter in reply early in December.

_Dearest Gwen,_

_I wish to thank you for your comforting letters, and to lament that I have not been able to send you the amount that you have addressed to me. Becoming queen has been something that I have been bred for, yet the shock of having such responsibility has still been great. Your letters are a source of comfort; many a night I have spent reading the missives of you, Arthur, and Father. Ursien has allowed me to keep two of my Camelot ladies, although the rest of my train has been set to return to you. _

_As this letter is being hand delivered by one of my father's knights, I will speak plainly with you. At the time of my wedding I did not believe I would be able to tolerate my new life. You may think me melodramatic but, dear Guinevere, you have yet to experience the anguish of my current situation. You, innocent friend, have yet to feel the hot breath of an unwanted man panting against your neck._

_I truly believed, for a time, that God has punished me. First, it had been mother, then with my gift, and then with _him_. But I feel, for the first time in a long while, that my life may be on the verge of a joyous discovery. I have recently been befriended by Lady Morgause, the queen of King Lot__. She is an amiable strong woman and I have learned much from her. When you are able to visit in the spring I wish for both you and Arthur to meet her._

_Camelot, you, Father and Arthur are constantly in my thoughts. And him. _Always_ him._

_Your friend,_

_Morgana__, Queen of Gore_

Guinevere hastily replaced the note as rustling came from her sitting room. Hidden behind this particular note was another folded piece of parchment, meant for Arthur's manservant. She would rather the intruder not call notice to her letter and accidentally find the note meant for Merlin. Finding the intruder to be only Batilda the young ward visibly relaxed.

In an attempt to banish the melancholy that the thought of her close friend brought, she accosted the elder woman halfway through the door.

"The snowfall is letting up," she chattered, piling the sheets stacked in the nurses' hands despite her protests.

"Would you go for a walk with me around the gardens? Please, Batilda?"

The older woman huffed, dusting off her apron as she tottered back to the chamber door. The lady grabbed her velvet lavender fur-cloak from where it was resting over the back of a chair by the fire. Gwen was at her heels, practically clasping her hands under her chin as she implored the woman. She followed her nurse into the corridor where she was now instructing other servants carrying the rest of Guinevere's freshly laundered clothing.

"'Tis too cold out there for me, lamb," the nurse explained, stepping to one side for a guard to pass. She paused in her organizing as she inspected the corner of a chemise brought by a servant. She clucked her tongue before shaking her head.

"Send it back," she ordered, handing the servant the poorly cleaned garment. "The Lady Guinevere will not wear soiled garments. Has the washerwoman been at the bottle again?" The servant in question could give no answer, and instead hurried away before hearing more about the drinking laundresses. "You'll catch ill out there anyway," Batilda picked up the conversation with the young woman. "You had best stay inside."

"I'll walk with her."

The two women glanced to their right, noticing only then that Arthur had appeared in the corridor observing them. Batilda dipped a curtsey while Gwen nodded in greeting, thinly veiled excitement on her features.

"I have to speak to the deputy guard at the gate." He offered his arm to Gwen, his strong limb slipped from beneath his scarlet cloak. "I think I can handle keeping an eye on you." His eyes twinkled with amusement and for the first time in a while she felt like he was the old Arthur again.

These teasing looks she could handle, it was his burning gaze that unsettled her.

Batilda sighed, clearly trying to keep a smile from her face but failing. "Fine. But, milady, if you are ill by Yuletide, I will not listen to any of your complaints." Her charge might have been convinced by the prince's joking manner, but Batilda with her life experience knew better. She unlike the young lady had her clear suspicions as to the reason behind Arthur's extravagant gifts and persistent staring. But, Guinevere was not ready to face such emotions, being a woman and three years his junior her mind though not naïve per se was still innocent. She didn't see what one touch of her hand did to the young man.

If this was any other man Batilda would have been worried, knowing full well that a woman's will could easily be ignored by a man in lust. However, this was Arthur. After the queen's death, Batilda looked after the boy when he had a fever, brought him ointments for his wounds. Though his regard for her charge may have changed and grown into something infinitely more intimate, she knew that he would never intentionally harm Guinevere. No matter what his desires were.

Hiding a knowing smile, Batilda swatted at the air with her hands. "Go on then."

Guinevere flashed the old woman a smile before swinging the fabric around her shoulders. She gently placed her hand into the crook of his arm. "We shan't be too long," she attempted to comfort the nurse, even though the excitement on her face wasn't helping her cause. The nurse shook her head, going back to ordering around the gathered servants as the pair continued down the hall.

As they entered the snow-covered courtyard her eyes roamed hungrily over the expanse of white.

"Why did you sigh?"

She looked up at him, startled that she hadn't even realized she had made the sound. "I was just thinking… Remember, when we used to steal shields from the armory to slide down snow drifts?" A laugh bubbled up from her lips, sending a flush to her cheeks. "Do you remember how mad you used to get when Morgana would slide further than you? Or the times I would slip snow down the back of your tunic?"

A grin broke out on the man's face, despite the memories of his younger self's annoyance. "The two of you together always spelled trouble," he recalled, leading her past a group of guards huddled around a small fire for heat. The men in uniform paused in their attempts of warming up, bowing at the pair as they passed. Arthur absentmindedly brushed aside their formality as the two continued their trek.

Her earlier joy was dampened by the thought of her friend. Silence reigned for a moment or two as they both reflected on the departed princess.

"I'm glad I still have you," she added quietly, smiling slightly as she stroked his arm with her free hand. "At least, until I make my own marriage."

Something flashed in his eyes, but Gwen didn't think to interpret it. It was easier to see Arthur as her long time friend than as someone who held conflicting feelings toward her.

While he ducked into the guard's keep to speak to the deputy, she waited quietly outside. Despite not having remembered to bring her leather gloves for her foray into the snow, she couldn't resist scooping up some of it into her palms. The cold, wet texture instantly sent a shiver down her spine. Yet instead of dropping it she started to shape it.

A ball shortly appeared from her ministrations, resting carefully in her palm. Both she and Morgana had often stockpiled such creations, sneaking them past the princess' nurse to drop them on unsuspecting knights from Morgana's balcony.

The opening of the door startled her and interrupted nostalgic musings, yet she didn't drop the snowball. Instead she waited to see that the man before her was indeed Arthur as she rather quickly, tossed the snowball at him.

It landed in the middle of his chest, causing his eyes widen in surprise. The two stared at each other for a beat until a smile spread across his face. She recognized the look of revenge looming in his eyes after so many years and, taking a hold of the hem of her gown, Gwen took off at a run across the snow filled courtyard.

Between the snow underfoot, her laughter, and her cumbersome gown, running was a difficult feat to accomplish. She could hear Arthur's boots crunching the snow not far behind her, catching up to her easily. She darted past a confused looking guard, running to the snow blanketed gardens. She slid to a halt behind an oak, barely missing a snowball connecting with her back. She held onto the trunk, peeping out from behind it. She frowned, not seeing him from her hiding place.

He had been following her, hadn't he?

"You honestly think you could outrun me, Guinevere?"

She jumped, turning quickly to find the laughing prince right behind her. He held onto her arms, keeping her from slipping due to her quick movement. Her laughter joined his as the two stood in the empty courtyard.

As they came down from their glee she noticed that he was still holding onto her. Gently she stepped back, watching as his hands fell back to his sides. The feel of his hands, protective on her arms, scared her. It wasn't that she was afraid of her friend; rather, afraid of how his warm touch sent heated tingling sensations running through her trembling limbs.

His attention turned to her red, cold hands. "Here," he began, shucking off his own leather gloves. He held one out to her, waiting for her to take it. When she was about to shy away as usual he interrupted: "I said I would look after you, did I not? Your nurse will tear me apart, prince or not, if I return you with numb hands."

She smiled, gingerly accepting his gloves. Her hands, so much smaller than his, seemed almost lost in the fur lined leather. Yet the gesture, along with the warmth they provided, was much appreciated.

"Thank you," she said, smiling gently as she drew her arms underneath her cloak for warmth.

His gaze turned intense again, holding onto hers before she could look away. A blush covered her cheeks, not due to the cold though, and she tried desperately to find some distraction, something to focus on other than Arthur, who stood too close to her.

"Oh! There's Merlin," she commented, finding the serving boy to be the first thing that her eyes landed on. His head was turned downward, a leather pouch strung over his shoulder. She guessed that he must have been out on a run to the village for Gaius, perhaps to hand out ordered medicines.

A look of amusement spread across Arthur's lips. "Watch," he instructed, dipping down to grab a handful of snow. He packed it quickly into a ball before taking a few steps toward the unsuspecting manservant. He hauled the snow toward Merlin, erupting into good-natured laughter alongside Gwen as the servant looked up in surprise at the hit.

Gwen tried to control her giggles, stepping forward to see if the boy was alright. She watched as he seemed to transfix his gaze upon the snow-laden branches above Arthur. Without warning the snow slid from the branches, causing the young man below them to yelp in surprise as the wetness engulfed him.

Guinevere felt herself double over from her laughter as the prince stood in shock, his limbs coated in snow. Merlin's laughter joined that of the ward until Arthur recovered.

"Oi!"

Merlin took off at a run in order to escape the pursuit of the prince, while Gwen watched in hysterics at the chase around the gardens.

**0o0o0**

Twelfth Night that year was just as boisterous as always. As it was the last feast of Yuletide every member of the court seemed to be feasting as much as possible. Gwen curtseyed before Sir Kay as the two finished their second dance that evening. She smiled, turning away from him with cheeks flushed both from excitement and physical exertion. She grabbed a goblet of spiced wine from a servant's tray as she circled the gathered crowd.

A small hand reached to her hair, to check to see that the gift given to her by the king for the New Year was still in place. He had gifted her a web of diamonds to be woven through her curls. She thought that the contrast of the diamonds against her dark hair was rather fetching, and had jumped at the chance to wear it this night. Resting in her chambers were the bolts of silks that Arthur had presented her with, imported from Rome. The soft peach and lavender colored fabrics reminded her of the upcoming warm spring months.

She had commissioned a new bridle for the king's charger, complete with gold trim. Yet Arthur's New Year's present had been her main concentration. After much thought she had set to work embroidering a prayer book cover for him, proudly displaying the crowns of Cornwall and Camelot intertwined. The look of appreciation on the prince's face made her happier than she had imagined.

The young woman absentmindedly fixed the hem of her gown- a creation of scarlet- as she watched the guests mingle about the hall. She truly could not spot one unhappy face amongst them. The wine, the food, the music... Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Inside she nearly crowed with pride. As Morgana had been sent off to marriage, the responsibility of being the lady of the citadel fell to her. With a nervous heart she had instructed preparations these past twelve days for a series of feasts and events to entertain the visiting nobles and resident courtiers. As far as she could tell they had gone off without a hitch, aside from a near squabble between two drunken barons. But that was to be expected of such men she supposed.

Gwen adjusted her girdle for a moment, making sure that the holly leaves entwined with the gold were still in place, before setting off on a tour of the perimeter. The young woman nodded in greeting to passing nobles, pausing every few moments to inquire about this baron and this lady. As she finished her first circuit around the room she spotted Merlin. Quickly she excused herself from conversing with a group of gossiping noblewomen to slide beside Arthur's manservant. Midway to Merlin she paused beside Batilda, wordlessly holding her hand to the maid. The nurse quietly slipped her hand into the pocket of her apron, withdrawing a bit of folded parchment to hand to her charge.

Halting before him she exchanged her now empty glass for a full one. "Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," she remarked, drawing the boy's attention from the crowd to her.

He smiled slightly, a far away look in his eye. "It seems to be."

Silently she held out her hand, the parchment just visible in her fist. "Greetings from a friend," was all she said as he held out his own palm to take the note. She left him silently, allowing him to read the letter from the newly married princess.

Guinevere passed the rest of the night circling the room talking to guests, or taking turns upon the floor with numerous dance partners. Arthur had requested her more than once, and she had even managed to snag a dance with Uther between his discussions with nobles.

The king was unusually sober that evening. He wasn't a sloppy drinker, like some of the other men, but he was normally quite rosy cheeked at such feasts. Yet tonight he seemed as somber as if he was presiding over court. More than once that evening she found him staring at her, but for what reason she couldn't comprehend.

Knowing that the hour was late she excused herself from the feast, keeping in mind that it would be unseemly for a woman of her standing to be present at such a late hour. Feasts such as Twelfth Night were notorious for getting rowdier as the night went on. And God only knew what the knights would be doing by the end of the night. She had heard rumors, her and Morgana shocked to hear some of Arthur and the other men's indiscretions mentioned among the gossiping courtiers.

"I believe it to be a success, milady," Batilda commented once they had reached the woman's chambers.

Gwen exhaled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "I'm just glad that it is over with," she responded, although she agreed that her first organized event had gone quite well. Her mind flew through the days ahead. The next major event she would have to plan would be the Easter celebration. Thankfully, that was some time away.

She was barely in her chambers for two minutes when a knock came at the door. Batilda wordlessly went over to answer it, dipping into a curtsey instantly as the visitor turned out to be the king. Uther nodded slightly to his ward's nurse, waving her away after a moment. The woman quietly exited, leaving the king and his ward alone.

"I hope that you were pleased with the feast, my lord," she began, crossing the room to stand before her guardian. Gwen beamed, reaching forward to take his hands. Uther's guarded expression began to make her feel uneasy, her smile slowly falling.

"Sit, Guinevere … please" he requested, leading her over to a nearby chair. She placed her hands in her lap, watching him with worry written across her brow. What had happened? Instantly her heart leaped into her throat. Something had gone wrong with the feast? Was he not pleased?

The king took a few steps away from her, going to gently run his fingers over her father's shield hanging above her fireplace.

How was he to explain the decision he made?

He had been considering for a while now of possibly pairing Arthur and Guinevere in matrimony. But even if he thought it was an ingenious idea, the memory of his own daughter's sorrow over her match was fresh in his mind. But this would be different, he knew it. After all he wasn't just forcing the two down the aisle. Arthur had been the one to approach him.

_"You know, Father," the prince had begun, having requested an audience with the king, "with Morgana married now, I think you should turn your attention to Guinevere." The boy absentmindedly picked up a discarded book at his father's bedside table, clearly trying to remain aloof. "I've seen the looks she has gotten from some of the noblemen," he continued, even as the king tried to hide his mirth._

_"And you don't think that it is too soon, what with Morgana just recently departed? Guinevere is still young, she is younger than your sister." Uther continued to bait his son._

_"It's for her own good that she is married off."_

_"Hm. Perhaps you are right. I shall have Geoffrey draw up a list of suitable matches."_

_Arthur stopped before his father. "But her … lands. It would be a shame to lose them."_

_Uther nodded, knowing where the conversation was going. He had known where it was going when Arthur had uttered "Guinevere"._

_"And Mother provided her with an education of a noblewoman to her liking … worthy of a queen, perhaps."_

_Uther had the grace to question his son as to where he was going with his speech._

_Arthur shrugged._

_"It was just thinking that perhaps, since I too have yet to be betrothed, you might simply pair us together. It would save you the trouble of looking for matches for both of us, thus we can keep her … Her and all of her assets, and …"_

_The man cleared his throat, knowing better than to voice what he truly wanted to say. "And she carries herself with the grace of a Queen of Camelot. Her way with guests, her planning, her etiquette."_

_A glimmer of hopefulness flashed across his face._

_"I think you should consider it."_

And Uther had considered it. With the court celebrating around him he thought over the possibility of the match. He knew Guinevere would be a competent organized wife; she had received the proper education, knew how to manage a household. And judging by the way Arthur looked at the girl, spoke of her... Uther knew there would be no trouble getting an heir. Multiple heirs.

That was what concerned him most: lineage.

He had not had the kingship passed down to him as Arthur would have. Uther had fought for this land upon the battlefield, seeing his own men die for his ambition. His biggest fear was for the kingdom to be torn apart. Hence, witnessing an heir to his son born in his lifetime would only cement the Pendragon claim.

Who knew how many years he had left? He didn't feel so decrepit that he would die tomorrow, but he knew that death would eventually come. It was better to see his son wedded and bedded, with a child in his wife's belly before Arthur became king.

He hardened his heart; this was for the best of the kingdom. And what girl wouldn't want to become queen? Of Camelot no less. No; this would be good for Guinevere.

"You've been of marriageable age for some time now, haven't you dear?" he asked, knowing fully well that she had been. He watched as his ward schooled her features, although he thought he saw a faint look of apprehension.

"I have," she repeated, her mind flying ahead of his speech. He must be considering her marriage then; it was the only thing that made sense. She felt her stomach flip with worry. Maybe she shouldn't have had that last glass of wine.

The king straightened up, no hesitation on his face. "I've put much consideration into the candidates for your hand. I'm happy to say that I've come to a decision."

He grabbed her hands, as she had taken his when he had first walked in, smiling gently. "What would you say to marrying Arthur? To becoming queen one day?"

A beat or two of silence passed between them, yet Guinevere felt as if it lasted for years and still wasn't enough for the news to settle down.

Arthur?

She felt the blood rush from her face.

Arthur?

The boy she had tumbled with as a child?

Who had always been as a brother to her?

She realized that he was waiting for her to respond, yet her tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of her mouth.

She couldn't marry Arthur... How embarrassing would such a marriage be? They were good friends but to become a wife to him, in _every_ sense of the word, was something that made her face grow warm. It would be terribly awkward.

"You are certain, milord?" she asked cautiously, watching as something of amusement crossed in the king's eyes.

The man she had come to consider her father laughed at her apprehension.

"I've given it much thought, dear. Why, you shan't have to leave us now." His gaze turned solemn for a moment. "I believe you will carry Igraine's mantle well."

Gwen heard his words, yet could still not process them.

But what to do?

So she reacted with every proper noblewoman's response. Her only response:

A smile and a nod.


	13. Chapter 12

AN: Thanks for the reviews! Up next...the engagement. :P

Thanks to Guardian Izz for being a great beta.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"Are you alright?"

_Was she?_

Guinevere kept her gaze focused on the closed doors to the throne room as the pair stood before them. Her eyes had not strayed to the prince once unlike him who seemed determined with his stare. Despite her hand being in the crook of his arm she felt as if they were not, in fact, in the same room.

What did he expect her to answer?

"_No, Arthur, I'm not _alright_! I am about to be pledged to my adoptive _brother_."_

or

"_Just fine, Arthur… But could you stop touching me, it makes me nervous? While you're at it I would ask you to refrain from looking at me as well. In fact why don't we just see each other at the wedding in a couple of months."_

She could not believe that she was intended not only as Arthur's future wife but also the future queen of Camelot.

"I'm quite alright," she lied, not daring to even glance his way.

Had she actually spared him a few looks that morning she would have seen what Merlin spotted at once - the goofy grin that threatened to appear on Arthur's face. She would have seen that he was delightfully happy. Yet as she was terribly embarrassed with the entire situation, Guinevere assumed he would feel that way too.

Finally a pair of guards opened the great wooden doors and admitted the pair into the crowded hall. The couple walked down the carpeted aisle while the members of the court feasted their curious eyes upon the future king and queen. Guinevere felt her skin burn as they approached a pleased looking Uther at the head of the room.

She knew that as soon as the ceremony was over talk about the prince and his betrothal to the ward would be swirling around the palace. Ladies would gossip about her gown; a cream creation with gold embroidery. Then they would move on to listing all her flaws. The men would speak of the prince finally entering the realm of matrimony; the knights shall no doubt make some vulgar jokes unfit for polite society.

Heirs.

_That_ topic would be on everyone's lips by the end of the night and would not cease till the day she died.

How quickly will the Lady Guinevere become with child after her marriage? Will the Prince desire her? Will she be successful? Will she beget sons? How many sons?

She curtseyed before her guardian as the man beside her bowed.

"It is my wish for my son and heir Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot to be betrothed before God to Lady Guinevere Leodegrance of Cameliard," Uther proclaimed to the gathered nobles with a sparkle in his eyes.

It was rather surprising that the normally guarded king would be so open with his emotions his ward observed. Guinevere realized, with a sinking heart, that he must think this match a rather brilliant scheme on his part. He had taken her in, educated her and now he would be reaping the benefits of his charity. For the first time in her life, for a short moment she felt contempt toward the king.

The bishop came before them, dressed in his best vestments, and directed them to stand opposite of each other. He took one hand from each of them as one of the priests covered their clasped palms with a band of red silk. The holy man's words blended together in Guinevere's ears as her gaze focused on the band binding her once free hand to Arthur's. She knew that men often complained about being "locked down" in matrimony, and despite the tolerated adultery on their part they mourned their lost freedom. But did they once even consider the loss of independence of their brides?

Of course that was rebellious wishful thinking on her part. Women in her days were never free, they were passed down from fathers to husbands to second husbands to sons… Always in the hands of men.

How long would Uther hold off until the official marriage? A few months at most.

The cloth was removed from their hands, yet the bishop kept speaking. What was he saying?

Her mind, although fluent in Latin, had no wish to translate. Instead her attention focused on Merlin as he stepped toward the prince, a velvet pillow in his hands. The king's heir plucked a silver ring from its place among the velvet. Gently he raised her hand, slipping the band onto her left hand.

A polite smattering of applause woke her from her dream like state as the pair followed the king from the hall.

She was engaged.

Guinevere half expected Arthur to start laughing, to tell her it had all been a joke. That this was simply another childish game and that Morgana had set up the entire scam.

Yet she knew this was real, and she had just become engaged to the boy that had once pushed her in the mud.

As soon as possible she retracted her hand from his warm, firm arm. He frowned in confusion, yet she spoke before he had a chance to inquire about her actions.

"I have much to do," she lied, her eyes already darting halfway down the corridor, away from him. "I will see you at the feast later."

Already moving away from him, Arthur's strong hand on her wrist halted her movements.

"Can it not wait?" he asked, the remainder of his earlier glee still a sparkle in his eyes. "I wanted to speak with you."

Already he used his dominance over her, and yet not even her husband. Knowing that she was stuck Gwen silently nodded and allowed him to slide his grip from her wrist to her hand. Such a simple touch of flesh, yet she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She had never held his hand even as a child; it had simply been improper

The young woman glanced to the prince's hand grasping hers as he led her down the corridor. A thick silver ring rested on his pointer finger, the band nearly the same as hers with the absence of diamonds. Igraine had been fond of wearing the ring on her finger when she had been alive. Gwen had thought that Morgana inherited all of her mother's jewelry, yet it appeared that the simple band had been claimed by the late queen's eldest. It warmed Gwen's heart to see him carrying a bit of his mother with him. It was at times like these that she felt a connection radiate between them, she had only to figure out what it represented as it now seemed stronger than before.

Arthur pulled her aside into an alcove, far from the crowd that was exiting the throne room.

Brown eyes met blue as the newly engaged couple stared at one other in silence. Finally, he broke into a gentle smile as he lifted his other hand to brush away a stray curl. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sensation of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her cheek.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, his fingertips straying from where he had adjusted her curl to her chin. He tipped her head slightly upward as he bent his head toward her.

"My lady?"

Guinevere inhaled sharply, turning her head to block the course of Arthur's head. He pulled up sharply, a thinly veiled look of annoyance on his features. The young woman silently prayed in thanks that Batilda had chosen to look for her.

She swept the prince a graceful curtsey, trying to keep her speech from trembling. "I shall see you at the feast, sire," she excused herself, turning her back on the disgruntled young man. She passed by Batilda, who kept her eyes on the prince with a knowing look upon her face before she followed her charge.

What had he been planning?

Surely he hadn't meant to kiss her?

She had heard plenty of the other ladies whisper of what seemed to be a simple touch of lips, yet had never personally experienced it. His infamous expertise compare with her ignorance in all things pleasurable to the flesh and desire was unfair really. It wasn't proper for a noblewoman of her standing to simply go around kissing young men that she wasn't engaged to. It would bring shame upon both her and the king if anyone were to find out.

Yet this was Arthur, her betrothed. It was acceptable then, was it not? The king must know of his son's reputation and would hardly expect his son to remain virtuous, surely.

Guinevere rejoined the nurse in her chambers. She found it difficult paying full attention to the elder woman's comments on clothing choices of the gathered ladies. Gwen was far too flustered to think about what these ladies had been wearing and who had seemed rather bedraggled that morning.

Batilda went over to the clothes press to search for something more simple for her charge to wear, while the young lady approached one of the windows lining the wall, pressing her left hand on the casing.

She could do this. She would carry this burden with her head held high.

It was just like any other marriage, wasn't it? But most noble girls had never met their future husbands before. Most other girls didn't know their intendeds' thoughts, fears, preferences. Most had not grown up alongside the man.

Gwen eyed her left hand where her new ring, symbolizing the Pendragon claim on her, shone in the streams of light from the far window. The light reflected off the center diamond causing it to sparkle prettily on her hand. She hadn't really had time nor desire to inspect the band when it had been placed on her finger. Begrudgingly she had to admit that it was beautiful: the center diamond surrounded by smaller clusters truly stood out against her olive skin. It caught the sun easily and created a pleasant sparkle. She quickly placed her hand down, hiding it within the folds of her skirt. A pretty gift wasn't going to make her feel any better.

The slow footsteps of her nurse alerted the young woman to Batilda's presence.

"My lady?" the woman inquired, watching her hesitantly.

Gwen turned quickly, schooling her features into a forced smile. The nurse knew Gwen for far too long to be fooled by the sham, but was wise enough not to comment.

"I fear that with the excitement of Yuletide I have all but neglected Gaius, not helping as much as I ought have."

The nurse silently helped her change into a simpler gown of pale pink and a silver surcoat. It wasn't nearly as fine as the cream creation she had worn that morning, and it made her feel oddly relieved. She could be simply Gwen again for the moment, and not the future queen - Arthur Pendragon's wife. She made to take the ring off her hand but Batilda's protests halted her movements.

"I don't think it would be proper, lamb," the woman half-chastised her charge, causing the young woman to frown.

"I don't wish for it to be ruined," she protested, although that was only part of the reason.

"Will you do the same with your wedding band? You know that is forbidden. You cannot go gallivanting around without it, my lady. You are taken."

Knowing that the older woman was right, yet despising the words she used, _taken_, Gwen stubbornly retreated to her jewelry chest. She withheld her protests, knowing that such behavior would appear childish, and extracted a silver chain from the chest. Carefully she threaded the ring through the delicate chain before clasping it around her neck. The ring rested against her bosom underneath the fabric, safe from view.

"There," she said, pushing her hair back to hide the clasp. "I still am wearing it, technically."

Batilda muttered something about 'troublesome young girls' but simply waved her charge off. Gwen flashed the woman a quick grin of apology before heading toward Gaius' chambers.

The man seemed surprised to see the young woman, yet politely bade her enter his chambers.

"With the festivities over I can aid you more, Gaius," she began, taking in the state of the room. It was clear that Gaius was not the only person to use these rooms anymore. There were traces of Merlin scattered all over it, whether it be a discarded neck scarf or a forgotten sock. The elderly physician spotted one of the offending garments, sighing softly as he stooped to pick it up.

"I sometimes believe the boy to be deaf," the man began, picking up another forgotten garment. He sighed, stretching his back wearily after rising. "If I've told him once, I've told him a hundred times to pick up after himself."

Guinevere laughed, settling herself at the book-strewn table. "I fear Arthur must always have him at his beck and call. Poor Merlin probably has no time over for any chores you give him," she commented, toying slightly with the cover of a heavy tome.

The physician chuckled. "Your betrothed is fond of giving Merlin an extensive chore load."

Intent in his work, the man did not see Gwen wince at the title. She quickly changed the subject once he joined her at the table. "What have you been working on? I imagine you must have many orders lined up for this winter," she began, listening carefully as the physician went on about the high demand for his help.

Hiding in Gaius' chambers she could avoid the outside world. Or more specifically, the prince with the sapphire eyes.

**0o0o0**

The feast that evening provided Guinevere with as much apprehension as her betrothal ceremony that morning. To have so many people watching her every step was unnerving. She was lead into the hall, head held high, on the arm of her future husband, garbed once more in an elaborate gown. Uther's betrothal gift graced around her neck: a moderate sized diamond threaded through a chain of silver braid. It felt heavy, weighing down her delicate shoulders, yet she had accepted the gift graciously. The king was simply doing what he thought was right; she would have to live with it.

The evening passed in a blur filled with countless dances and numerous congratulations. She felt that her face was growing numb from having to constantly smile at the well-wishers presented to both herself and Arthur. A sinking feeling formed within her: would she have to do this as queen every day? Silently sit at her husband's side, reminding him of names and titles, as countless people spoke to them? Would she be able to keep up?

Meanwhile Arthur's very touch continued to burn whenever they shared a dance with the rest of the guests. She avoided his gaze, knowing his own followed her every move.

Gratefully she retired as soon as permitted. Anxiety flooded her heart as she realized that possibly some time soon she wouldn't be walking back to her own chambers to sleep alone anymore. And she suspected there wouldn't be much sleeping involved in a wife's duty to her husband.

**0o0o0**

When the future queen of Camelot visited the physician for the third day in a row it caught Gaius' attention to her plan.

"I'm starting to think that you are avoiding someone," he said, arching his eyebrows slightly. She blushed at being caught.

"I am sorry if I have intruded upon your hospitality," she began, pushing a stopper into a small bottle. She placed the finished product among a group of other bottles of various shapes and colors. Merlin's job was to later distribute these to the villagers and courtiers who had requested them; the boy should have been arriving at any moment.

"I do enjoy helping you, truly. 'Tis just that … this also provides me with a reprieve." She kept her eyes on her work, even as she felt his aged ones boring into her.

Gaius sighed knowingly. "You cannot run from him forever," he went on, guessing correctly who she was avoiding. "You will eventually have to marry him."

Her delicate hands paused in her work for a moment before she steeled herself to move again. "I have some time," she insisted. Although a date had not been set, she knew that the wedding would not take place during the winter months, but was more likely to occur in either spring or summer.

The pair jumped as Merlin stumbled hurriedly into the room. He shouldered a leather bag draped across a spare chair, quickly packing the bottles into the pouch. At Gaius' look of disapproval the young man paused.

"His Royal Pratness needs me to muck his stables in an hour," he explained, clearly trying to take more care with the glass bottles now that he had been silently scolded. "If I am a second late you know he will add something else for me to do."

As if the prince had heard him, he appeared at the open door of Gaius' chambers.

"And Merlin, next-"

The command froze on his lips as he zoomed in on the feminine figure hiding behind her curls across from the elderly physician.

"Guinevere," he greeted her, a curious smile on his face.

Startled she fumbled with the cork currently in her hand, nearly dropping it onto the stone floor.

"Arthur."

Gaius shifted uncomfortable on his bench while Merlin watched the pair in amusement.

"I would like to talk to you," the blonde began, gesturing to the corridor.

Gwen felt her breath catch. The last time he had told her that he had nearly kissed her.

Yet... She didn't want to admit it, but she was curious as to what it would feel like to have her lips touch his. Was it warm? Would his lips feel like silk against her skin? Or would it be rough and forceful just like he was, dressed in his armor?

Guinevere realized that she hadn't yet answered him and quickly stood up, nearly upsetting the medications before her. She mumbled a quick apology as she exited the chamber, prompting the prince to close the door behind them. They walked a few paces away from Gaius' before pausing beside a window.

Gwen kept her hands clasped before her, unable to escape the questioning gaze of the knight before her.

"Have you been avoiding me?" he questioned, already knowing the answer. When she finally looked up he didn't look upset or annoyed; he seemed amused. Laughing at her expense.

Ire rose within her. "Am I no longer permitted to help Gaius?" she asked, feeling that she needed to defend herself from his teasing. To fight him every step of the way. "I am not your wife yet, you have no need to watch my every step."

He bit back a chuckle at her outburst, shaking his head. "No... You aren't the type that would allow that, would you?"

She moved to protest but before she had time to think his lips were on hers. His lips felt surprisingly soft as they molded against hers. His hands moved to cup her face, prompting Guinevere to close her eyes. She couldn't move and her arms just hung loose at her sides. It felt … nice.

"Sire, I will be back-"

The two jumped, separating as if they were two naughty children being caught.

Shocked Merlin blushed from where he stood by Gaius' door, awkwardly adjusting the leather strap of his satchel. "I'll just go then," he mumbled, turning away from the pair, the tips of his ears red from embarrassment.

Arthur frowned at the boy, reminding himself to come up with another task for Merlin as soon as he returned, before turning back to his bride.

Yet the young woman was halfway down the corridor, intent on getting as far away as possible from the man she had just shared a kiss with.

He smirked, running his tongue over his lips - longing.


	14. Chapter 13

AN: Sorry this wasn't posted on my normal updating day. For some reason was not too pleased with me the past two days.

But, here it is! Thank you for your reviews...they mean a lot. :)

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

The months that followed her engagement proved to be quite confusing for the young woman. Her entire life had been full of instruction on the proper behavior a noble woman should exhibit when around the opposite sex. Yet Arthur seemed intent to completely erase all that had been ingrained in her.

She supposed that he was entitled to entwining their hands at the banquet table, or taking liberties with brushing back stray curls. His kisses, though rare, sent her head swimming. Engaged or not, it seemed almost wrong to be sharing such an intimate occurrence with a man of his experience and reputation. And Arthur of all people! Of course what caused her most shame was that she had come to like the feeling of his lips on hers. Obviously she hadn't told him, nor responded in any obvious way that would encourage him. Frankly she wasn't sure how, and she knew it wasn't proper chaste conduct. There would be time for that later; Batilda had already explained to her what happened within the marriage bed.

Although, after their talk Gwen was sure she could not look at Arthur the same way ever again. To know that they would have to do … _that_, made her feel terribly anxious.

By the second week she forced herself not to think about it. Uther had yet to set a date for the wedding, and if she continued to worry herself over it she would be a frazzled mess by the time it rolled around.

Now that spring arrived in Camelot she spent less and less time with Arthur. He was too busy training the knights and new recruits to pursue her as much as he had during the cold months. She found herself almost relieved that she had a moment to breathe from this seemingly endless chase.

It was sometime in late April that the king gave both his son and ward permission to journey to Gore. Despite his own daughter being at the journey's destination, Uther did not simply allow them to go for a social venue. Within the saddlebag of Arthur's charger was an important document regarding the future relationship between Camelot and Gore. Uther was counting on their help if any attack was to come from the north, and wished to remind his son-in-law of his promised commitment.

The party set forward that early spring morning, Gwen with a heart full of excitement. Though she was surrounded by numerous guards and companions, including her future husband, her best friend was the only thing on Guinevere's mind. By now, Morgana surely must have heard about Uther's official announcement of the royal betrothal between her brother the prince and her friend the ward; what did she think?

For a brief moment she feared that Morgana may believe that she had somehow encouraged the match. Hadn't they always laughed about the poor soul, who would have the misfortune of marrying Arthur? To find herself becoming that candidate in the flash of time, caused the lady to question her friend's current view on her.

Camelot was vast and it seemed to take ages to reach Gore's borders, yet Batilda had reminded her charge more than once that the journey would only take four days. The anticipation of catching sight of the new Queen Morgana was enough to make every mile feel like an inch.

She kept glancing over at Merlin as discreetly as possible during the trip, trying to read his expression. She thought that he would be trying to hide his own glee from the chance at seeing Morgana, but he seemed quite stoic. She wondered at his ability to hide his own longing so well, to long so subtly.

Arthur, too, seemed to be in a better mood than usual. Gwen had not seen him berate Merlin as much as normal, nor did he seem as intent upon seemingly undressing her with his blue eyes. Instead he seemed lighthearted, more childish than normal.

Unbeknownst to Guinevere, Arthur was excited to see his sister for more reasons than that of brotherly love, he had a favour to ask. Naturally, he too wished to speak to his longtime childhood playmate and sibling, but he also wished for the new queen to speak to his betrothed. He supposed with Morgana, so recently married, speaking to Guinevere about the queen-ship and what it entailed the ward's progression might be a bit easier. Even though he was blissfully happy with his marriage arrangements, it was clear to the prince that Lady Guinevere did not share his enthusiasm. And who could blame the lady?

Although it proved to be a frustration for him personally, the prince knew it was to be expected. A girl of her standing had been guarded from any pleasures of the flesh or unclean persons for her entire life. It would do her good to speak to a married woman who had already been introduced to the marriage act.

They arrived in Gore around midday, shortly before a heavy downpour of rain buffeted the kingdom. Guinevere watched as the gray storm clouds rolled over the nearby hills, preparing to dump buckets and buckets of water upon the land below. Batilda bustled around the borrowed room, unpacking her charge's clothing with efficiency. Gwen knew that once she was married she would no longer be in need of a nurse, as her husband would take up the role of both her governor and protector. Yet she was determined to keep the woman on as the head attendant. She would then be promoted to the position of head of Queen's personal household.

"Can I not just go in this?" the young woman pleaded, watching as Batilda glanced her over.

"Morgana will hardly care if my gown is dusty."

Batilda tutted, taking out a pale blue, silk creation from a chest of her lady's gowns. She adjusted the sleeves of the gown before leading the future queen behind the dressing partition.

"But you have forgotten, my lady, that you are not simply meeting with the queen; the king will be present also."

Gwen resisted the urge to pull a frown in frustration. She wished to see her friend alone, without the interruption of Ursien to keep them from speaking. Still, she knew that such a greeting was only proper and, as she was to be queen one day, perhaps even a beneficial experience. She felt herself unconsciously stand up a bit straighter as Batilda helped her change. She would represent Camelot with as much grace and poise as was possible for her.

Waiting outside her chamber door was, unsurprisingly, Arthur. She guessed it would be fitting that he would accompany her, as they were to be married.

They walked silently behind the guard leading them to the foreign throne room, both too caught up in their own thoughts to speak to the other. So close to seeing her friend again Guinevere felt anxiety rising within her. Would Morgana be the same? Her letters had often-time sounded morose, which was unusual for the formally cheerful girl.

The guards pushed the door to the throne room open, admitting the royal couple.

"Prince Arthur Pendragon, and the Lady Guinevere Leodegrance."

The guard announced them before the pair seated on a pair of thrones, leaving the two guests to bow.

Gwen chanced a look up at her friend, seeing a shadow of a smile resting on the young woman's lips. Morgana seemed thinner than she had been in Camelot, and dark circles covered the skin beneath her once vibrant eyes. Ursien stood, prompting the engaged couple to straighten.

"Brother," the man greeted, clapping Arthur on the back.

"It is good to see you again, Ursien," Arthur responded, seemingly at ease with his new brother-in-law.

The king smiled, before falling into a frown.

"Tis a shame you were not present for the wedding. It was quite the event, wasn't it Morgana?" He turned to address his wife who took this as a reason to step toward them. Guinevere could see the slight tremor in her friend's arms from where they were seemingly glued at her sides. It seemed that the queen was physically holding herself back from embracing her brother and best friend.

"Twas," was all the dark haired woman said, her eyes telling far more than her words.

"And the Lady Guinevere!"

The king kissed her knuckles as she dropped into a curtsey.

"It is wonderful to meet you, sire," she began, quite well versed in the speech of a courtier. "Thank you, on behalf of both myself and the prince, for your most gracious invitation."

Ursien laughed, sparing her a smile before clapping the Pendragon on the back once more.

"And congratulations on your impending nuptials; she seems to be quite the choice."

The king led Arthur out of the room, speaking of matters of state, which Arthur seemed wholeheartedly interested in.

If he was feigning or sincere, Gwen did not know, nor did she care to think upon it now. As soon as the door closed behind the two leaders she fairly flew into her friend's arms. The young woman felt tears prick her eyes as she held onto her longtime friend.

"I missed you so much," she said quietly, as her embrace was returned with as much vigor by the new queen. As they separated Gwen noticed the watery look in Morgana's eye.

"I...I know it was foolish, but I feared I would never see you or Arthur again," she admitted, seeming much like the little girl she had once been despite the finery she was garbed in.

Gwen let out a shaky laugh, hooking arms with her almost sister as they had always did.

"There shall be no tears between us," she instructed as Morgana led them toward her private chambers.

"This will be a happy time."

A hesitant grin came to rest on the queen's lips.

"That it shall."

**0o0o0**

"Who knew that the poor girl we had always been teasing would turn out to be you, Gwen?" Morgana giggled, sipping from her goblet of wine. Guinevere rolled her eyes, not caring that such an un-ladylike expression was committed in front of the queen; it was Morgana, after all.

Although she thought her friend's teasing on the subject of her impending nuptials would hurt, she found it to be quite the opposite. Guinevere found herself laughing alongside Morgana as they remembered lamenting over the bridal prospects of Morgana's older brother.

"Although, I hope you know that I shan't be stooping to stroke his ego," she reminded, refilling both goblets from the pitcher on the table before them. Such a menial task should have been allocated to a servant, but Morgana had dismissed them for the sake of total privacy.

"I fear, that shall not be the only thing you will be stroking."

Gwen felt her face heat while her friend nearly turned red from laughter. "Morgana," she began, frowning slightly as the girl recovered.

"I'm sorry," she insisted, although her grin seemed to deny her apology. "It is just..." She turned somber, nearly as gray as the clouds outside of the window beside them.

"I have few chances to laugh anymore, Guinevere," she explained, staring at the rim of her goblet. "I truly am sorry if I upset you with my blatant hints," she insisted, finally making eye contact with her sister of spirit.

Gwen shook her head, forgiving her silently.

She hesitated, trying to seem aloof. What concerned her the most was the fulfillment of her wifely duties in the privacy of the bedchamber. Batilda had given her a general outline of what was to happen, but she felt that her dear nurse still saw her as a child and refused to soil her innocence. She wasn't going to give her charge a thorough explanation. Yet Morgana, so recently married, would be frank with her.

"How … how was it?"

Morgana picked up on the direction of her question, without further embarrassment. Her face remained pale throughout her explanation. "It is..." She sighed. "It is _uncomfortable_."

Gwen sipped from her goblet, thinking over her words.

"The feeling of penetration is not something that you can prepare for, Gwen. I still have yet to become accustomed to the feeling." Morgana shifted in her chair, as if remembering the stabbing appendage.

"It will hurt at first; terribly so. There will be blood that, along with his … seed, shall leave quite the mess. You might want to bathe right away, but you shan't have the chance of course." Her expression darkened. "Men are fond of the act more than once a night."

Guinevere felt the blood drain from her face.

"Does he not know that it is uncomfortable?" she asked, suddenly realizing that the sensation must be different for a man. She guessed that that made sense; men were fonder of the marriage bed than women after all.

"I do not think he cares," the queen responded, standing up quickly from her chair. She paced before her friend, her hands frozen at her sides.

She stopped suddenly before Gwen, nearly startling her friend as she knelt before her chair.

"Do you know that I dread nightfall now, Gwen? That I put off going to bed until I can barely keep my eyes open? But no matter how late I retire, he is there and waiting. Awake … _every part of him_." She shuddered as she struggled to keep from sounding hysterical.

"I want to rip my skin off my bones every time he touches me. The feeling of his breath against my skin, my lips..." She choked down a sob, even as Gwen embraced her. "I rarely eat anymore; why, when I simply wish to become sick to avoid his touch?"

Gwen brushed back her friend's hair, trying to soothe her.

"He seemed quite pleasant," she said halfheartedly, knowing that her friend's judgment of character was usually spot on. Years of living amongst the backstabbing courtiers had taught Morgana exactly how to read a person, their vices and their virtues.

"He seems that, did he not? Well, you have yet to see him at feasts. You haven't seen him with wine in his stomach and lust in his eyes."

The queen wiped at her eyes, although this did little to halt her tears.

"He ogles at other women as if I am not even present. He taunts me, he berates me. I will never be as good as them, Gwen. He tells me I will never live up to any of the other women he has had. Although I could hardly care, it hurts nonetheless. It hurts to be compared to a mere serving girl, who's spread her legs for my husband."

Gwen stroked her friend's tresses for some time as the queen calmed.

She titled her head slightly to address the yet unmarried lady. "Is he with you?"

Gwen didn't need to ask who 'he' was.

"Merlin is with us," she answered, cautious. "But you cannot do anything, Morgana. You should resist ... better to not even speak to him. Please. If someone should overhear you, or see you together..."

Both knew the punishment for adultery committed by a woman: _death_.

"I cannot resist speaking to him," she confirmed, shaking her head. "If you loved someone and finally had the chance to speak to them, touch them, after a separation so long..." She stood up, brushing back her stray strands of hair framing her face.

"I need to speak to him."

**0o0o0**

Gwen had been nearly glued to the hip of the queen for the next two days. It was just like old times, she mused. She had been keeping a watchful eye over Morgana, waiting to see if she would try to speak to Arthur's valet. Morgana did not think rationally and such a meeting would bring disaster with it. Gwen felt it her duty to watch out for her friend. If a disaster could be avoided she wished to help.

Luckily, the queen had very few chances to speak to the boy privately. Merlin was almost nearly always at Arthur's side and refrained from even making eye contact with the longing young queen. Gwen for her part, tried to steer her friend away from any confrontation if a chance presented itself.

The two were strolling around the castle's gardens shortly after lunch when Morgana's previously morose expression was replaced by one of joy.

"Morgause!" she exclaimed, her visage brightening as a blond haired woman crossed the garden on her way toward them. Guinevere faintly remembered Morgana mentioning such a name in one of her few letters, but had completely forgotten about the woman. She quickly looked her over as the two queens greeted each other.

Morgause's hair was pinned atop her head, a coronet resting against her brow. She exuded an overall maternal vibe, which Gwen found pleasant.

"Morgana," she greeted the new queen of Gore, embracing her. A look of concern flashed across her features as she took in the barely concealed shadows beneath the younger woman's eyes. Quickly Morgana turned to Gwen, wanting to distract her role model from her troubles.

"Gwen, this is Queen Morgause."

She turned to the blond, smiling brightly as she took up Gwen's hand.

"And Morgause, this is the Lady Guinevere Leodegrance. She is my brother's intended."

A faraway look rested in the new queen's eye. "I have told you quite a lot about Gwen, didn't I?"

Morgause laughed warmly, patting Gwen's hand. "I feel I already know you, my dear; Morgana has regaled me of your adventures."

Gwen felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady." She moved to curtsey, yet Morgause's tutting stopped her.

"We are all queens here, are we not?" the blond questioned, smiling. "Or rather, you will be one day soon."

A new emotion flickered across the elder woman's face, yet Gwen wasn't able to read it fast enough. Had it been apprehension? Worry?

"I was planning on taking a stroll down to the armory in a few moments. I have commissioned a new sword and I believe it to be ready," she dropped the younger girl's hand, nodding regally to the pair.

"I was going to ask Morgana to join me, and of course you are more than welcome too, Guinevere." She smiled slightly, stepping away. "I will be back shortly. I must speak to my steward."

The two girls dipped into a slight curtsey, watching as the maternal figure entered the castle. The pair resumed their stroll, arm and arm once more.

"She seems quite amiable," Gwen commented, watching as her friend grinned in approval.

"She has been something of a blessing," Morgana added, drawing Gwen over to a stone bench behind a garden hedge. The two adjusted their skirts as they took up their seats, looking out over the expanse of Ursien's garden.

"I am glad that there is someone here for you to turn to," the younger woman added, feeling slightly better that her longtime friend had someone to share her secrets with. She searched her mind for the mention of Morgause in the queen's letters. "You said you had learned much from her, correct?"

Morgana quickly glanced around and, when finding that there was none to overhear her secret, she whispered. "She is much alike me," the queen started, watching as Gwen's features turned doubtful.

"Do not give me that look Guinevere," she nearly pouted, tapping her fingernails upon the bench hurriedly. It had been a habit from their childhood, when the two girls had had to sit for hours reading catechism. It seemed that it had carried over into adulthood.

"You may doubt my … abilities, yet she does not."

The queen focused on a patch of soil before their feet.

"Watch."

As she was staring at the bare soil, Guinevere missed the slight flash of gold in her friend's eyes. Instead, she found her own eyes widening as a stem protruded from the ground before her and sprouted a bloom.

Silence followed for a moment or two while Gwen tried to school her features.

"How did you … what did you…"

Morgana laughed, bending slightly to pluck the flower that she had just grown. "Morgause has been most helpful in aiding me to realize my abilities." She stroked the velvet petals of the flower lovingly, marveling at her creation.

"She has taught me not to fear them, but to embrace them. You see Gwen, magic is not outlawed in Gore as it is in Camelot. But still..." She paused, setting the flower in her lap. "Ursien does not know of my gift. I simply do not think it wise to tell him."

Her expression darkened.

"Perhaps the only thing that was beneficial with my moving to Gore, was befriending Morgause. Had I not, Uther would have perhaps stifled my very gift from his choke hold on magic."

The cold tone that Morgana produced, along with calling her father by his given name concerned Guinevere. She knew that the pair often had their spats, but she had never heard Morgana call the king anything but 'father'.

"Ladies?"

The pair jumped in alarm, having been broken from their moment by Morgause's call.

Morgana composed herself once more as she allowed her flower to drop to the ground. "Come, Gwen," she requested, starting after the other queen and allowed her friend no time to question her choice of words.

**0o0o0**

"Morgana."

The woman in question froze, having been turning to follow a rather hesitant looking Merlin. The queen spun on her heel, facing her brother. Arthur exited Ursien's council room, the new treaty tied in his hand, and extended his free arm toward his sister.

She withheld a huff of annoyance before sliding her own thin arm into his.

"I have request to make of you," he began, leading her along the quiet corridor. She peered up at the taller man, frowning softly.

"And what would that be?"

He paused, sighing slightly before drawing her over to an alcove.

"I wish for you to … talk to Guinevere," he asked, watching as his sister lifted a brow. "As her mother has passed, as has ours, there is no married woman for her to turn to. Her nurse..." He shook his head, something of irritation flashing across his features. "She is not going to give Guinevere a straight answer."

"What is it that you want, then?" Concern was etched across Morgana's face, her thoughts of Merlin forgotten for a brief moment.

"I wish for you to speak to Guinevere about the duties she will face once becoming queen. Mother provided you both with the education of a noblewoman, but that will not suffice."

His face tinted pink. "And, I would like you to talk to her about what … marriage entails privately, between a husband and a wife."

Silence hung between the two, making the air feel rather awkward.

"I have already done so," she answered, looking anywhere but his eyes. Even for siblings such a topic felt awkward.

The prince visibly relaxed.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at his sibling. Yet Morgana's dark expression halted his relaxation. "What exactly did you tell her?"

Morgana frowned, taking her arm out of her brother's.

"I told her the truth."

She stepped away from him, leaving her elder sibling wondering exactly how the intimate act had been described to his bride, and if it would prove to be a hindrance on the actual night of their wedding.

**0o0o0**

Gwen was glad that there was no mirror or other such reflection before her; her eyes were far too red. She wasn't one for crying often, but taking leave of Gore was more difficult than she anticipated. Not only did she not know when she would next see Morgana, but she felt terrible leaving the woman with her husband. But what choice did she have? What choice did Morgana have? A noblewoman – any woman really – was not meant to question or interfere in the matters of men. Even if Guinevere thought that King Ursien was not the right man for her foster sister, it was not her place to voice this disapproval of his person.

Morgana too had shed tears at their separation, although they had not only been for the departure of her friend and brother. Guinevere watched as Morgana finally caught Merlin's attention and his rejection in turn caused Morgana to fall into shocked tears. Guinevere hadn't hear what had been said between the two, but judging by Merlin's pained look and Morgana's sobs, the conversation was not one of a pleasant nature.

Once the party had covered quite a bit of ground Gwen slowed down in order to fall behind to the end of the line of the traveling party. She turned her horse beside Merlin's, trying to seem nonchalant so as not to attract the attention of eavesdropping ears around them.

"Are you alright?" she asked, chancing a concerned look. He kept staring straight ahead, not realizing she had spoken until he finally felt the weight of her gaze.

"I...I had to tell her to move on," he murmured, shifting awkwardly in the saddle. He toyed with his reins, unable to look at the girl beside him. "She has a new life now. It would have never worked between us to begin with."

He looked up, his expression guarded.

"It will be as if it was simply a dream, a youthful crush to look back on with fondness, but nothing to be taken seriously."

Gwen felt a pang in her chest for her two friends as their melancholy was interrupted by a cry for help ahead of them.

Both servant and lady drew back their horses as the group came to a halt. Gwen craned her neck, trying to see what the commotion was about. She saw Arthur had dismounted his stallion, followed by Sir Bors, and the pair seemed to be huddled around something.

Guinevere nudged her horse forward in an attempt to get a better look. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of the bedraggled girl currently splayed out in the mud.

Arthur reached out a hand to the stranger as Sir Bors helped the girl to stand up. She seemed to be at the brink of consciousness, swaying on her feet until Bors took hold of her shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, trying to get the girl to focus on his eyes. She seemed skittish, constantly looking around the foreign group as if expecting her pursuer to be among them.

"I...I..."

Even from her place in the group Gwen could hear the fear in her words.

"My village … they were so fast … there were so many of them!"

A sob choked the girl as she buried her dirty face in her hands. This prompted Sir Leon into action as he withdrew from his cape, draping it over the girl's shoulders for her modesty.

Arthur began speaking to her in a hushed tone, much like he did when talking to his horse on the training grounds.

"Merlin!" Both Guinevere and the manservant jumped at the call, yet Merlin, used to his master sudden unexpected orders, responded in a moment. "Bring forward your horse," came the prince's command, prompting Merlin to dismount and lead the animal toward the girl.

Bors lifted her up to the saddle with ease whilst Merlin kept hold of the reins.

Arthur addressed the victim once more, yet Gwen could decipher only one word, her name: Freya.


	15. Chapter 14

AN: And we are moving along. :P I can't believe this is almost over! Thank you all for staying with me so far.

Thanks goes to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

Gwen rested against the door of Batilda's small bedroom, closing her eyes. After having arrived back at the citadel the girl, Freya, had been ushered by the lady's nurse to the servants quarters where she was sent to bathe and was tended to. Guinevere had accompanied her through most of ordeal, speaking calmly to the frightened young woman.

"Is she alright?"

Gwen jumped, her eyes flying open only to find Arthur standing a few feet from her. He was looking at her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She loathed admitting that he had startled her yet again by his sudden appearance and close proximity - a childhood habit, still in order - and stepped away from the chamber door.

Guinevere faced him for the first time since Morgana filled her in about a wife's marital duties; to satisfy her husband's desires no matter the nature or their effect on her own person.

Would he show her the same concern as he did for this stranger? Would he even care that the consummation of their union would hurt her physically, and change her forever mentally? Or would he display lack of consideration altogether and simply vary between his queen, other ladies and simple scullery maids?

She realized that she had yet to answer him.

"She, er, she is fine," she stuttered, missing the entertained look he gave her at seeing a flush on her cheeks. "Batilda has put her to bed. I thought it best if the two shared my nurse's chamber for now."

The prince nodded as he leaned against the stonewall, crossing his arms.

"And what has she told you?"

"Nothing more really than what she told us when first discovered," she explained, her eyes darting toward the door where the distraught young woman was currently resting. "Her village was destroyed by raiders; she said that they were rogue soldiers from Edwin's army. Only a few of the villagers escaped but she has no idea where they are." The betrothed woman's features softened. "The poor thing is terrified."

They couldn't have left Freya alone in the woods, so it had been decided that she would be brought along with them to Camelot. She had given little explanation of who she was beyond the story of her village being attacked. Gwen and Batilda had managed to coax a little out of her during the ride, yet the girl seemed reluctant to talk. Guinevere could understand why and didn't wish to push her.

She sighed.

"I know that her village was not within Camelot's boundaries, but I wish we could do something for her. Could you..."

She grew hesitant, watching as he straightened up from his relaxed pose. "I was wondering if you could perhaps speak to your father for me. About hiring her."

Although she had not known Freya long, she felt almost protective of the girl. They were about the same age and the poor thing, much like her, had no family left, hence a connection felt mutual.

"I could make use of her as a chambermaid. Batilda isn't as young as she once was, and could do with the help." She made sure to lower her voice, knowing that if her nurse heard her she would cause uproar.

He smiled gently, taking a step toward her.

Arthur dragged the knuckles of one of his hands gently across her cheek, inwardly reveling in the blush that graced her cheeks. "You know I can deny you little," he admitted as she averted her eyes. He hid his disappointment as she took a step back, beyond the reach of his hand, to dip into a slight curtsey.

"Thank you, sire."

She moved to leave him, yet his next question paused her stride.

"What did you think of Queen Morgause?"

Guinevere hesitated, thinking over what she had garnered of the older woman.

From what she had seen Morguase had become something of a mother figure to Morgana, which the new queen of Gore truly appreciated living alone in a foreign kingdom. She seemed to be a pleasant woman, and Gwen couldn't think of much to complain about concerning the woman's character.

She explained her opinion of the woman to her intended, yet the slight frown on his features signified that he didn't exactly share her feelings on the matter.

"I got an odd feeling around her," he elaborated, watching as confusion drifted across Gwen's face. "I think Ursien allows her to spend too much time around Morgana."

Gwen felt herself bristle under Arthur's assessment of the queen. Why shouldn't Morgana be allowed one joy in her new life?

"Sadly it is out of your hands," she said, trying to keep from sounding bitter. She dipped into a curtsey. "Goodnight, milord."

The prince watched his future wife walk away, wondering exactly what he had said to upset her again, and longing for the pending time when he would be able to follow her and demand her attention all night long, if he so pleased.

**0o0o0**

"My lady! Come look!"

Gwen wrapped her dressing gown a bit tighter around her frame, ignoring Batilda's babble about the state of her May Day gown as she crossed the room over to Freya. Her new chambermaid was smiling from ear to ear as she gestured to the lower town beyond the citadel walls.

Although it was not long after dawn, the town was bustling with activity that early May morning.

"We used to have a May Pole each year," Freya reminisced, resting one of her scarred hands against the stone casing of the window. "All the maidens of the village would adorn their heads with crowns of flowers. And the dancing!"

The servant giggled, catching her lady's hand as she began to swing Gwen around the room. The noblewoman was shocked for a moment, but hastily recovered as she too fell into giggles.

It had been nearly three weeks since Freya had become part of her staff, and Gwen couldn't imagine Freya not being there. Between herself and Batilda they had coaxed her out of her shell, and had exposed the exuberant young woman inside. Well, Guinevere couldn't claim all the credit for herself and her nurse; Merlin had helped quite a bit too. She often saw the two servants as they went about their daily activities. Gwen felt a little shamed at the hint of annoyance that rose up in her chest whenever she saw the pair. She could tell by the shy glances they shared that they shared a growing connection of sorts. Instantly she would think of Morgana, and the feelings she suspected the queen still harbored for the valet.

Why had Merlin just thrown that away?

But she knew, deep down, that such a relationship could never be. Not only was Morgana of the nobility, but she was also a married woman to a man of power. They would be fools to attempt such an affair. Yet, the romantic in her wished that their love had been possible.

Perhaps Freya could help at least Merlin to move on.

Batilda clucked her tongue, shaking her head as she watched the pair.

"You had best show the proper respect to the lady," she chastised, yet she couldn't help a small grin from forming. What was the harm in giving the girl this one child-like moment? Heavens knew that she would have more than enough responsibility thrust upon her soon.

'_Arthur and his obvious looks,'_ Batilda thought to herself, rolling her eyes.

Gwen returned to her nurse, breathless from her romp about the chambers. She smiled sweetly at the older woman as she was ushered through her morning's toilette.

As soon as the nurse left the chamber to remove her charge's discarded nightclothes Freya descended upon the ward.

"Do you think we might be able to join them, milady? Just for a little while?"

Guinevere's eyes darted to the window where she knew the subjects of her servant's request were making merry. She felt doubt bite away at herself as she considered the seemingly innocent question. She, personally, had never taken part in the common May Day celebrations. The festivities that the nobility participated in consisted of the annual joust along with the elaborate feast later in the evening. She had never danced about a May Pole, or collected flowers amongst the peasantry.

What was worse, she knew what Morgana would tell her if the princess had been there: do it. It was one of her last moments of freedom before being saddled with marriage and future queen ship.

"After mass," was all she said, trying to hide the smile that threatened to envelop her features. If Batilda was to know...

The two exited the chamber, collecting Batilda in the following room before heading off to mass.

**0o0o0**

"I think that I will take a few turns about the garden," Gwen announced, catching Freya's glance as soon as they re-entered her chambers.

Batilda was about to protest, but Gwen interrupted.

"I will have Freya accompanying me. I know you must have much to attend to, Batilda."

She could almost see the sigh of relief forming in her nurse's throat. Considering Batilda's age it would have been quite selfish of her to drag her nurse along for more exercise, Gwen realized. And she wouldn't want to be like those other noble ladies, torturing their employees.

"Just return in time for dress preparation, your attendance at the joust this time is vital, no excuses mind you." The older woman watched as the young lady gathered up one of her plainer cloaks to ward off the chilly breeze still present so early in the spring.

The said lady hid an anxious expression that threatened her features and hurried out into the hall, Freya not far behind her. The joust would be the first public event since the royal betrothal where Guinevere would be presented as Arthur's blushing bride. Nerve-wracking as it was to have so many eyes on her once again, as the future Princess and First lady of Camelot Gwen would have to accept the prince's use of her favors while jousting _formally_, in front of nobles and peasants alike. It was tradition for a nobleman in love with a woman of court to wear a scrap of cloth or some other tokens that she had given him prior to the joust.

As usually was in court, it was all a grand performance

She knew that it might not always be so. Her future husband's mistresses might take precedence over her favors in the future; he might be strutting about the tournament grounds with another's colors. She would simply have to pretend, and turn a blind eye to such display.

It was the way of women, queens or not. She did not know of any straying that her father might have done, nevertheless society would have accepted it. From what she saw of Arthur throughout the years he was somewhat of a favorite among the ladies of the court. She would just have to put up with any younger, or older more experienced woman that popped up.

Gwen wrapped her cloak about her torso before raising the hood to cover her head. To actually participate in the antics of the villagers was strictly forbidden, but who could fault her for simply observing from the shadows?

The rebellious pair took the servants' exit out of the citadel just in case Batilda would be looking out over the courtyard from Guinevere's window.

As they reached the lower town and heard the swelling music of the locals she felt her heart leap into her throat from excitement.

Never had she done such a thing as this before. With Morgana she had toed the 'line' bordering to improper behavior on more than one occasion. Their dropping snowballs upon the un-expecting knights and guards standing below Morgana's balcony, or hiding Gaius' spectacles were pranks that certainly fit the criteria.

A brightly dressed girl ran past them, momentarily paused to throw a crown of flowers upon Freya's dark tresses. The girl laughed, tugging Gwen's hand as she dragged them further into the crowd. The maiden paused to gather another flower crown, prompting Gwen to drop her hood to place it atop her head.

"By God! My lady?"

Their colorful new friend halted, having heard the astonished cry from a grouping of middle-aged women previously weaving flower garlands.

Guinevere felt her cheeks grow red as the women curtseyed before her.

"I wish to take part in your celebrations, if I may," she began, thinking it odd to be putting on the act of a perfect courtier here. The women remained silent for a moment, as if stunned. Finally one elderly woman stepped forward, reaching up to hesitantly adjust Gwen's flower crown.

"You are welcome, milady," she requested, leading both the future queen and Freya through the crowd. The woman brought them closer to the maypole, where a group of villagers were dancing about it. Linked hands formed the circle, moving in the opposite of the direction of those twirling the ribbons of the maypole. A man playing the lute kept an upbeat rhythm as the crowd twirled, seemingly emitting a happy, indulgent aura.

Before she knew what was happening Gwen found herself being tugged into the circle. She looked up, laughing as she realized it was Freya. Blindly she linked hands with the girl on her right as she moved at an even faster pace with the crowd. Between the music, the feeling of joy around her, and the adrenaline pumping through her she felt as if she was almost flying.

The lute player let out a cry, signaling the circle to shift its direction. Nearly tripping over her skirts Gwen struggled to keep up to Freya, laughing at her own clumsiness.

She honestly hadn't had such fun in a long time.

**0o0o0**

One of Arthur's favorite memories of his mother was during a May Day celebration. Her golden hair with flowers woven into the tresses gave the beautiful queen am almost ethereal look. She truly did seem like a woodland fairy, or some other type of mystical creature. But it wasn't how his mother looked on such a celebration that caused him to remember the event; it was the way her eyes shined when his father would enter the arena.

Who didn't know of the love story of Igraine and Uther? Not many royal marriages were love-matches, yet it seemed that the two had fallen for each other at first sight.

No, it wasn't the way she dressed that he remembered.

It was the love that his parents shared that had burned the memory into his mind. He broke from his reverie, having noticed that he had not taken in one word of what Sir Kay had had been saying. The two knights had decided early in the morning to oversee the preparations for the afternoon's joust. As the royal blacksmith had fallen behind on his orders due to becoming ill, some of the pieces of armor to be worn during the tournament had been taken to the town blacksmith. The court had made large orders of the man's work on numerous occasions and the resulted goods had always been satisfactory. Arthur could only imagine how irate the man must be at having to work on May Day.

"I suppose we will have to drag the arena," Kay continued, too caught up complaining about the weight of his responsibility to realize that Arthur hadn't been listening to him. "We cannot have some poor lad being thrown from the competition because his horse could not find the proper footing, can we?"

"Right," was all the prince answered, which was enough for his companion.

If Kay could be described as one thing it would be – organized.

The pair paused outside the blacksmith's forge, prompting the three servants behind them to enter the humble dwelling. Merlin was amongst them, recruited for toting back the mended chain mail and breastplates. He had grumbled about having to do such a task, but had acquiesced in the end. For all the bellyaching Merlin did, Arthur had to admit that the lad was turning out to be a pretty good servant and a trustworthy confidante.

Kay kept going on about the preparations that must be taken care of before the morning was out, yet Arthur's attention was drawn to a pair of women breaking free of the celebrating crowd. One he recognized instantly as Freya, yet the other had a hood over her head, covering her face. The hidden figure turned suddenly as an elderly woman caught her attention. The gray haired woman held out a small bouquet of spring blossoms toward the feminine figure, who then drew back her hood to face the said elder woman and accept her gift.

Guinevere.

King Uther's ward did not realize she was being watched apparently, as she patted the wrinkled worn out hands in gratitude, smiling politely as the two conversed.

Arthur watched transfixed as his betrothed laughed, prompting a smile to form on the older woman's lips.

"Why did we not just bring an ox and cart?" Merlin asked, smacking into Arthur on his way out of the blacksmith's. To an onlooker it might have looked accidental, but Arthur knew his servant far too well at this point to know that it was anything but.

The prince frowned slightly, rubbing his shoulder from where the metal plating resting in the valet's hands had hit him.

"Because, Merlin," he began, crossing his arms, "how do you suggest we get a cart through this crowd of people? Anyway," he grinned, slightly pushing the boy forward, "you are much faster than any ox." He paused. "On secon thought..." Merlin stumbled from the push along with the extra weight, mumbling something about prattish princes under his breath.

Arthur turned back to get yet another glimpse his future wife, but the stunning figure in the blue cloak was already out of sight.

**0o0o0**

"Entering the ring: Sir Gareth of Northumbria and His Highness, Prince Arthur!"

The crowd of nobles clapped in approval while the quartered off commoners yelled in delight. Gwen inched forward in her chair, placed beside Uther, to get a glimpse of the pair riding into the arena. While Sir Gareth came to a halt before his squire at the far end of the ring, Arthur directed his steed to the royal box.

Gwen felt her breath getting caught in her throat as she ceased nearly wringing the scrap of silk in her lap to bits. It was clear for anyone watching that the swatch had come from the same material as her gown; the pure white dress complete with pink flowers embroidered carefully around the cuffs and her skirt was perhaps one of her favorite May Day gowns yet.

She stood as soon as Arthur drew his horse up to the box. He took off his helmet before bowing his head before his father. As soon as his finished his greeting to the king he turned his easy gaze onto Guinevere.

"My lady," he greeted her, his sapphire eyes seeming to smile at her.

She dipped her head in acknowledgment, feeling her cheeks already begin to burn as the crowd's eyes turned to them.

"If you would do me the honor of granting your favors, it would be a privilege," he requested, watching as his bride carefully. She descended the few steps from her seat next to the king on the podium and went over to the railing, feeling as if it were a mile. She finally looked into his eyes, willing her volume to be louder than she felt like speaking.

"I would be most pleased, my lord," she answered, leaning over the railing as she wrapped the scrap of fabric around his extended gauntlet.

A polite applause rose up among the spectators, yet she was too concentrated on the embroidered swatch of fabric to pay attention. His heavy hand came to rest upon her own in silent thanks before she retreated to her place beside the king, withholding a sigh of relief she watched as he cantered down the field to where Merlin was waiting with his lance.

Her eyes darted to the prize resting beside the king as the crowd waited for the first tilters to become ready. A freshly polished dagger with a hilt inlaid with jewels rested inside an equally ornate scabbard. Against the velvet cloth covering the short table it didn't seem to look as deadly as it was.

Uther raised his hand to signal the two jousters.

The crowd collectively held its breath as the two men hurtled down the lists toward each other.

The jousts, though exciting, always caused Guinevere severe anxiety. She had seen Arthur take a few tumbles during his youth when he had first been learning the sport, and had witnessed quite a few men come within inches of being killed. And of course, there was an annual number of those, who were _actually_ killed. Yet stubbornly knights continued to pursue the sport despite the risks. The male ego was, she feared, something that she would never understand.

Her fingernails gouged into the armrests of her chair as the two collided. Arthur's well-aimed hit knocked the opposing knight off his horse, sending him flying several feet into the dirt below. A cheer rose up from the crowd as the prince raised his free arm in acknowledgment of the spectators. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, as she relaxed somewhat in her chair.

A giggle caught her attention, causing her to swivel her gaze to the women nearest her. One of the court ladies quickly averted her gaze, momentarily on Guinevere, to the two noblemen entering the lists. Gwen felt a blush paint her cheeks as she realized that her anxiety over the joust could be thought by some of worry for Arthur.

True she feared for him; he was a close friend after all.

But apparently her anxiety was being construed as a lover's worry.

She tried to keep herself guarded throughout the rest of the joust even as Arthur continued to advance. She watched the spectator's expressions as the prince won his way into the semi-finals. Pride was clear on many a noble and commoner's faces alike at the success of their future leader. Arthur wasn't just their prince, but a fresh start. Even Uther must notice that he had lost some popularity with the common people throughout the latter years, after his wife's death, particularly during the Great Purge. The prince would be turning the page of Camelot's history for them.

Yet something else lingered on some of the faces of the noblewomen. She could tell, even from her spot in the Royal Box, that there was a dreamy quality in the more than one pair of eyes sitting in the stands. For some reason Guinevere felt a bristling at the back of her neck. Annoyance? Surely not jealousy!

Yet, it was logical, wasn't it? To be upset with other women ogling _your_ husband-to-be? Even if he wasn't exactly your choice...

The crowd collectively groaned as the next rider fell rather gracelessly to the dirt below. It took nearly three minutes to reclaim his horse as the poor thing cantered around the arena in fright. Turning her attention from the harried looking squires to the two men- the finalists- mounted right before the entrance to the ring.

Arthur's opponent, Sir Kay, chatted amiably with the servant standing at his stirrup. Arthur, however, looked out to the tilt yard as a general observing his battlefield. She had never seen her betrothed during battle and, because of her gender, she never would. But one did not lead the army if they were not competent, even if that person was the prince. She had faith in him to lead Camelot into glory. She knew he would; it wasn't a matter of if, rather a matter of when.

The gatekeeper called to the two finalists once the runaway horse had been caught, prompting the crowd to quiet down. Hundreds of pairs of eyes fastened on the two men as they separated, each going to a different end of the arena. Once more the young woman found her heart beating nearly in her throat as her golden haired knight was handed his lance. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her guardian raise his hand to signal the two men who nearly a moment later started off at each other.

The sound of hooves clattering against the by now packed-down dirt reverberated in her ears as she watched the two men collide. Kay delivered a blow to the prince's right shoulder, nearly knocking him from his saddle. But Arthur, having gotten the better opening, had prodded Kay just in the right spot to send the knight flying over his saddle.

A cry of joy rose up from the crowd as the people rejoiced for their new champion. Gwen too stood amongst them, clapping her palms from a mixture of excitement and relief.

There was something exhilarating knowing that the champion was her friend.

Her betrothed.

Arthur removed his helmet, dropping the lance to the dusty ground as he cantered a victory lap once around the ring. He paused to hand off the helmet to a groom before trotting over to the Royal Box once more. Uther, smiling brightly, stood to award his son with the winner's prize.

Yet the scabbard clad dagger was barely in the prince's hand for a moment when he held out the prize to Guinevere.

She remained in her seat, dumbfounded for a moment until she saw the happiness shining in his eyes from his victory. Yet there was something else resting in this sapphire eyes...

She had seen it enough during their childhood. Whenever Uther had been present at any of Arthur's triumphs on the training grounds he tried to draw his father into the goings on. He wished for someone of importance to him, whether the king or the then living queen, to bask in his accomplishment with him.

And today it seemed to be Gwen.

She stood up, feeling the eyes of the court on her once more as she halted at the edge of the box.

"For you," was all he said, his gloved hand still extended toward her.

Carefully she took the jeweled piece into her hand, admiring the gleam of the inlaid emeralds against the May sunlight.

What to do?

Had she been alone with him she might have embraced him, as any other childhood friend would do.

But here, in public, with everyone knowing that they were engaged...

She leaned forward, chastely kissing his damp cheek before withdrawing. A smattering of applause rose up from the gathered crowd; she had made the right move.

Gwen avoided Arthur's gaze as she returned to her seat, yet she couldn't help but smile as he rode around the ring once more to address the spectators.

**0o0o0**

"I believe it was very successful," Uther commented, idly toying with the napkin placed across his lap. "Both Lady Guinevere and Sir Kay have an eye for detail."

Arthur nodded, withholding a grimace as he shifted in his chair. Where Kay's lance had connected with his shoulder, even beneath the layers of armor and chain mail, still smarted. .

"Both are very dedicated to you, father."

Uther nodded silently as he watched the servants enter with that evening's meal.

"And choosing the town blacksmith instead of using one of the royal blacksmith's apprentices was the better choice; those lads cannot tell an anvil from a hammer."

Arthur smiled a bit wistfully.

"Thank you. Although..."

He hesitated, yet his father's expectant expression caused him to continue.

"I think that perhaps we should import more than we already do from the lower town. We already saw the excellent craftsmanship that the town blacksmith had done. What of the town seamstress? Or the any of the other businesses there? I fear that our people do not know us father. Why, the blacksmith wasn't able to even take his eyes from the floor when I stepped into his shop. I understand our subjects must humble themselves before us, but they treat us as if we are almost fabled creatures. When else do the common people see us if not during tournament days?"

He didn't wait for his father's answer and instead plowed forward.

"All I think is that perhaps we should … show ourselves more to our people. They need to see who exactly is taking care of them. Why, Guinevere had had no trouble with them yesterday. They took to her right away-"

Arthur watched as Merlin nearly spilled wine from his ewer, having moved to fill the empty glasses, at the prince's error.

"What?"

He schooled his features for a moment before glancing over at his father.

"What did Guinevere do?"

The prince resisted squirming in his chair as he often did when being chastised as a child.

"She," he cleared his throat, "she joined in the May Day festivities with those of the lower town yesterday morning."

Uther took a sip of his wine leaving his son in suspense.

"It was an utterly foolish action on her part," he commented, flicking his hand to the gathered servants as they finished serving the meal. The three filed out of the room, fighting to hide looks of concern. Rarely ever did the king dismiss all of his servants during a mealtime, even during his family suppers.

Gwen entered a moment later, a slight flush in her cheeks as she curtsied at the head of the room.

"Please forgive my tardiness, my lord," she apologized, taking up her chair to Uther's right.

She placed her linen napkin in her lap yet her eyes were not trained on the cloth; they were taking in the lack of servants in the room.

"I was thinking perhaps, my dear, that we needed to speak privately," the king began, picking up his knife to cut away a slice of venison on his plate.

She hid her anxiety as best as she could as she kept her eyes trained on her plate.

"My lord?"

"I thought that this might be the perfect time to remind you of what duties will be allotted to you as Arthur's wife, and the future queen." The man took a bite of the meat he had just cut, not seeing the vaguely uncomfortable feeling on his ward's face.

"You already have experience organizing court events; the May Day celebrations went over quite well, my dear."

He set down his knife before sparing her a glance.

"But taking part in the festivities of the lower town is not _required_ of someone of your standing."

Gwen felt the blood rush from her face as she averted her eyes to her hand which froze on its journey to her goblet stem.. She felt herself almost bracing for the chastising she knew was coming. She hadn't felt like this before the king since she had been a little girl.

"I know that you refrain from seeing the worst in others; your innocence is charming," the king continued, patting the hand that rested on her goblet with one of his gloved own. "But you must think of the consequences of such actions. What if a ruffian had attacked you? Or someone wished to kidnap you because of your position?" He tutted, shaking his head.

"It was a good thing that Arthur alerted me about this, I should hate to think of what could have happened."

Gwen's head shot up, staring down the prince across from her. The wall above her head seemed to have gained great interest from him as he avoided her gaze.

"But as queen you will have more responsibilities than simply greeting and keeping the court entertained. Why, you will have to become familiar with some aspects of running the kingdom for whenever Arthur is at battle. You shan't be doing it alone; there shall be advisers. But, you do have to learn somewhat what is to be done."

A small sparkle entered his eye at his next instruction.

"And of course providing the kingdom with heirs will be one of your most crucial duties. Why, I should like to see a few babes running about the corridors once more."

Gwen's pallor of moments before shifted as redness flooded her cheeks in embarrassment. She could hardly talk to Batilda on the subject; having Arthur and Uther in the room was pure horror itself making presence.

As the king babbled on she kept her eyes trained to the table and the setting beyond her plate. Her food remained untouched in her mortification.

Arthur had nearly choked on his sip of wine at his father's talk of heirs, having not expected the older man to bring it up. But truly, it was a matter that concerned the present king as much as it did his successors. An heir was utterly a matter of State.

The far off look in his father's eye as he reminisced of the earlier years of his marriage gave Arthur a chance to see how his betrothed was faring without drawing attention to his lack of interest in his father's words.

She seemed to be mentally not at the same table as them. He could understand why yet he was not sure why she did not simply ask his father to stop speaking of the matter.

One look at Uther's shining eyes and he knew: she didn't want to ruin his father's happiness in speaking of his deceased wife and their life together.

It was just so ... _Gwen_ of her to not stop him.

So he had to.

"Father, perhaps we should discuss how we should handle the spring planting. Surely that is something that Guinevere might benefit from knowing?"

His father's speech halted before assessing his son's words with a sigh.

"Perhaps you are right."

The King sipped from his goblet, not seeing his ward's refusal to look at her savior.

**0o0o0**

At the end of the meal Arthur excused himself shortly after his intended, planning on catching up to her before she reached her chambers. She was barely halfway up the staircase when he caught up to her.

"Guinevere!"

She turned sharply, her expression blank. Yet upon a better look he could see the underlying annoyance in her features.

"Arthur?"

He paused a few steps below her, shifting anxiously.

"I am sorry; I had not meant to tell my father where you were."

She took a deep breath and stepped closer to him as a frown played across her lips.

"I do not know how you saw me there but I have one request of you: please refrain from using your husbandly influence over me until we are married. I am not under your jurisdiction yet!" Not bothering to give him a 'good night', she stalked up the stairs.

The prince refrained from reaching up to grab her, knowing that if he did he might just complicate the situation further. In the end the stubborn couple left in frustration, in separate directions, heads spinning from what had transpired.


	16. Chapter 15

AN: I know Arthur and Gwen haven't had a bit of courting yet, so I thought I would give you all this last moment as we draw closer to the last chapter. Thanks for stikcing with me!

Thanks goes to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

Arthur kicked open the door to his bedchamber, ignoring the sound of it smacking against the stonewall as he stormed through, frustration clear on his face.

He could lead an army of thousands, command hundreds of fierce knights, yet whenever he tried to simply interact with his future wife he felt as incompetent as a new squire.

Merlin looked up from where he had been turning down the prince's bed, a small smirk barely hidden on his face; his master, though mad, wasn't distracted enough to miss his servant's amusement.

"What's so funny, Merlin?" he asked, folding his arms as he observed the younger man.

Merlin shrugged moving onto his next task. Gathering up pieces of armor that Arthur had littered throughout his chamber during the course of the day, he could not refrain from pointing out his clever observations: "You just always get that look on your face whenever Guinevere is upset with you, is all," he stopped up to pick up a gauntlet.

Arthur remained silent as his eyes followed the valet's movements.

"I think that you are doing it all wrong, really."

The prince's expression looked something akin to flabbergasted. "And what would make you the expert on the fairer sex, _Merlin_?"

The boy straightened, heaving a breastplate. "I … know things."

The prince mistook the thinly veiled look of pain on the servant's face for the weight of the armor, and not the person he thought of in that moment.

Finally, Arthur collapsed into a chair beside the table centered in his sitting room, balancing his temples in his hands. "Fine. What would you do then?"

It pained him to ask someone like Merlin of all people, but if he wanted to be able to at least talk to Guinevere before their wedding he needed someone's advice. He couldn't possibly go to his father, especially after the man's latest speech on such intimate matters of children. He had no brothers, no uncles nearby. Perhaps he could speak to Sir Leon...

"Well, Guinevere does not seem like the type to fawn over someone like you," Merlin explained, plunking down the metal none too gently atop the table. He procured a cloth and began to polish the pieces.

"No offense," he quickly added as he saw Arthur's expression. "It is just that I think she might actually need wooing."

"Wooing?"

Merlin shrugged as the prince looked on in astonishment.

"Wooing!"

The servant jumped, not having expected Arthur's exuberance, and nearly dropped the chain mail in his arms.

Arthur was up on his feet in a flash. "I can woo. I can do this." He furrowed his eyebrows at his almost-friend. "Thank you."

Merlin looked back down at his work, a little abashed that the prince was actually thanking him. He'd become used to working without a 'thanks Merlin' or 'great job there!'. Honest gratitude made both of the young men uncomfortable.

"Err, you're welcome," he muttered, furiously rubbing at the metal as the prince set about preparing for bed.

**0o0o0**

"I will have to put in an order for new arrows, please remind me later this evening. I should like to have them before the next hunt."

Freya nodded silently as she walked a step or two behind her mistress, holding the lady's quiver in her arms.

The pair had just returned from Gwen's archery practice with Sir Ector. Although she preferred the sword during her first few years of lessons with Sir Leon, the bow had turned out to be her favorite weapon. Not only was it a far more accepted weapon for a woman to wield, but the bow could also be used during the court hunts. It took precision and patience unlike the brute strength that the sword often required; she preferred it as she felt it fit her personality better.

The pair stopped short as the prince stepped out from behind an alcove.

"Gwen," he greeted, standing up a bit straighter as he lifted himself off the pillar he had been leaning against.

The lady adjusted her bow in her small hands and greeted her betrothed with caution. The events of the previous night's dinner still fresh in her mind, unfortunately.

"I, uh, I would like it if you could join me for a ride. Perhaps afterward we could play a game of bowls? Or perhaps chess. Whatever you desire."

She contemplated the choice silently as she took in his hopeful expression. Perhaps, truly, he hadn't meant for Uther to embark on his embarrassing speech the night before. Maybe it really had been a slip of the tongue.

A small smile graced her lips.

"I would like that," she replied, pretending not to see the barely hidden look of glee in Arthur's eyes.

She was just about to hand her bow over to Freya to accompany him, when she suddenly paused. Gwen could practically hear her nurse's speech in her head: _'what do you think you are doing? Riding out unaccompanied with a man, _not yet_ husband?'_.

Even without being there Batilda's words of caution were swirling around in her head, protecting the young lady from making foolish mistakes.

She somewhat winced before raising her eyes to Arthur. "I will have to have a chaperone, of course," she reminded him.

Yet that did not deter the prince.

"Your maid could accompany us," he added, his attention falling to Freya. "I might as well bring Merlin along then, mayhap the sunlight will manage wake him up at last. He's been acting sullen all morning..."

Guinevere rolled her eyes as she accepted the prince's arm, laughing softly.

"Perhaps it has something to do with all the chores you assign him?" she suggested as the pair started off down the corridor, Freya not far behind.

Arthur choked back a laugh. "He enjoys hard work. Don't you, Merlin?"

The unsuspecting young man had just turned the corner, yet stopped quickly as he was addressed.

"Hmm?" he asked as he fell in beside Freya.

Arthur shook his head. "Just keep walking," was all he instructed, pleased to hear soft giggles of the two women in their small party.

**0o0o0**

"I am going to write to Morgana to see if she could possibly arrive earlier than the other guests. I would like for us to have some time with her alone. I'm sure your father will like that too."

Arthur nodded silently as he kept his palfrey in step beside Gwen's. The two servants lingered behind them, holding their distance yet keeping an eye on the pair. Yet by the muffled sounds of Freya giggling in response to Merlin's hushed chatter, the couple could easily guess that their 'chaperones' weren't attending them.

"I will have to give her quite a bit of notice, of course. That is, once your father sets a date."

"August fourth."

Gwen's gaze flickered over to the prince as she allowed her mind to process what he had just told her.

"Oh?"

She realized how foolish she must have sounded and quickly composed herself. "I had not known that he had chosen a day."

She tried to hide the niggling of anxiety that was threatening to make itself known through her features. Having a date, an actual day, for her wedding made the entire arrangement all the more real.

"He spoke to me about it before the joust yesterday; I had forgotten to tell you."

She kept back any retort at him forgetting such an important piece of information and instead mulled over what time she had left as an unmarried woman.

"He truly is happy over the very idea. Of us, I mean." Arthur shifted the reins in his hands idly, keeping his blue eyes set on his gloved hands. "I'm, er, sorry about his speech last night."

Silence fell between the two for a beat.

"He is just concerned," the prince continued, trying to smooth over the situation. He inwardly kicked himself. How were the two to go through the very act that Uther had brought up the night before if they couldn't even talk of it? Well, Arthur knew he wouldn't have a problem. His desire for his bride would keep them occupied for the entirety of their wedding night if he had the choice. Yet, he knew such a thing was not openly spoken of among the women of Gwen's status. And then there was her nurse... Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes at Batilda's righteousness. If that woman had her way Gwen would remain a maiden for the rest of her life. If she had the power no doubt she would see it fitting for Guinevere to join the cloth and become a nun. Heaven forbid!

Had he been given a wife that he had not known prior to their marriage he could have easily dismissed his wife's previous servants. But this was Guinevere, and he's known her and cherished her for years. He wouldn't be able to stand the look of betrayal on her beloved features if he sent her closest companion away.

Once they were married, however, Batilda would not be needed the way she was needed now. Arthur was grateful to her for taking care of them as children, and guarding Gwen's maidenhead with her life, but a married woman did not have a nurse; her husband was her protector and guide. It was a bit of wishful thinking on his part that Guinevere would dismiss the woman she looked to as a mother.

He suddenly realized that she was looking at him in the way one would when waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry... What?"

Gwen bit her lip, shaking her head slightly. "I was asking if your father told you anything else. About the wedding, I mean."

Arthur shook his head. "He is leaving most of the planning to you," he replied, watching as she absentmindedly braided the bit of mane before her hands. "He was very impressed with the festivities that you have planned so far."

Her cheeks tinged pink for a moment at the compliment. "But I first have to plan my birthday dinner. Or have you forgotten that it is almost upon us?"

She quickly covered her earlier embarrassment with a teasing grin.

"June twentieth, how could I forget?" he recited the date with ease.

The pair began to wind their way back to the path that would lead them to the citadel. Behind them Freya and Merlin did the same, although the couple was too caught up in their own banter.

"Surely you have chosen a gift for me by now," she baited him, giving him a sidelong glance.

He laughed before ducking to avoid an errant tree branch. "To be without a gift for you would be worse than death, my lady," he said in his best courtier's tone, prompting the young woman to laugh. He broke the branch that had nearly left a bruise upon his brow.

"Spoken like a true nobleman," she played along, glancing over at him. As he was busy making sure that no branches were in their way, she was given a chance to observe the young man. He had certainly grown from the boy that had seemed so uninterested in her when she had first been introduced at court. How could his fierce masculinity have escaped her notice? She supposed that even while enduring his odd gazes, she had still seen him as simply '_that boy who was Morgana's brother_'. But it was impossible to any longer, especially after he had kissed her.

Her attention drifted to his hair, where the blonde locks seemed to shine in the sunlight streaming through the trees. She wondered, for a moment, what it would feel like to touch his hair, to run her fingers through the strands. Would it feel warm like the glorious sun, illuminating the darkness on their wedding night?

She quickly collected herself once she realized that he was giving her a peculiar look. Flustered, she tightened her grip on the reigns.

"I'll race you back," she announced, not giving him a chance to answer before she squeezed her mare's sides.

It was the perfect distraction. Instead of thinking upon why she had taken this moment to really take in her betrothed, she would instead have to concentrate on winning this game to gloat for the rest of the evening.

Arthur had no choice but to follow, joining in one of their many childhood games.

**0o0o0**

The race had not provided the distraction that she had wished for. She had won - which entitled her to a round of teasing - yet she still couldn't stop thinking of how she had ogled him. Ogled would be the correct word, wouldn't it? It was normally used when someone stared at another in the way she had done.

As Batilda brushed out her hair that night she tried to organize her thoughts. She had simply taken notice of how Arthur had looked that day. That was all. Really, it was nothing. But the chaos in her thoughts would beg to differ.

She almost felt a bit of pride knowing that her intended was such a handsome man.

"Will that be all, mistress?"

She turned halfway in her seat as Freya paused before her.

"Could you retrieve my sleeping potion from Gaius, please?" she requested as Batilda finished plaiting her hair. The young lady stood from her stool before smoothing out the sleeves of her nightdress. "I believe that it will aid me falling asleep."

The medicament would lull her into a calm enough state for slumber. She wasn't overly fond of the drink, but it had been given to her now and then throughout the years when she had had trouble escaping the nightmares that her father and brother's deaths had brought.

She could feel Batilda's concerned gaze upon her back yet she did not acknowledge it. She didn't want to talk about how she had felt today, let alone to the woman that had raised her.

Freya nodded wordlessly and curtsied before leaving.

Gwen climbed into bed, patting Batilda's shoulder lightly to assure her that she was fine.

The situation was embarrassing enough without being asked questions about it.

**0o0o0**

Freya felt as if she was walking upon clouds and not the solid stone her shoes were currently treading upon.

She had, since the attack on her village, found another person like her.

_Merlin_.

He was the only one to know of her secrets, of her abilities.

And she knew his.

It was somewhat thrilling to find a companion in magic-forsaken Camelot. She knew it was dangerous, risky. Yet the thought of someone like her didn't make her feel like a stranger to this court any longer. Of course the Lady Guinevere was kind, as were most of the other servants she worked with. Yet they weren't the Druids, they weren't from magic and could not understand it.

Of course, she doubted they would have given her a passing glance had they known she was a Druid. Her people were still barred from entering the kingdom.

To her dismay Merlin was not yet in Gaius' chambers when she retrieved the sleeping potion. Gaius had told her with a knowing look in his elderly gaze at her rather conspicuous questioning that the boy was still attending Arthur.

Trying not to seem too downcast she thanked the physician before starting back up to her lady's chambers.

"Wait!"

Freya turned sharply as a harried looking servant barreled down the hall toward her. The woman's blonde curls were tied with a leather cord, although a few strands had escaped. Her clear features were obscured by smears of soot.

"Could you deliver this to the king, please? I still have to attend Lady Blake before she calls for my hide."

Freya took the goblet of ale in her free hand, smiling gently.

"You shan't have to worry; I'll see to it."

The older looking woman smiled in thanks before picking up her hem, then hurrying back the way she had come.

Freya switched her path to the king's chambers, not seeing the cold smile of the queen behind her.

**0o0o0**

"I will have to speak to the seamstress. I suppose August is a while away..."

With her wedding looming in the air, Guinevere knew she would have to start planning the event eventually. Batilda had prompted her about the date while preparing her for mass and Gwen had reluctantly told her. She could practically see the idea flying through the matron's mind at the very word of 'wedding'. Although Guinevere enjoyed being the First Lady of the citadel and preparing the events of the court, she would rather not have been involved with the preparations for her own wedding; she was stressed enough about marrying the handsome prince as it was.

A knock on the door to her receiving room prompted Freya to see who was calling. She entered Gwen's bedchamber, a grim look upon her features.

"The prince has requested your presence in the council chambers, my lady."

Gwen paused in smoothing her gown for a second as she processed what the maid told her.

What could Arthur possibly want with her at this hour? Couldn't it have waited until after mass? He would have seen her there and could have spoken to her even before the service had began.

"Were you told why?" she asked, a mask of indifference falling across her face. It was probably for something trivial, perhaps something about their wedding.

Freya shook her head.

"It seemed serious though. The man at the door... his cheeks were like ashen."

Gwen looked at the two women before taking a deep breath.

"I shall meet you both in the chapel. I shan't be long."

Without another word she left the confused looking pair of servants, her feet leading her to the king's council chambers. She was rarely present there. Really, what reason could she have? Matters of the state had never involved her before, nor any other woman other than sometimes the queen.

She nodded to the two guards at the door who stood back to allow her to enter.

The scene in the stately room threatened a shiver down her spine.

Arthur was seated at the head of the table, Gaius to his right, Geoffrey to his left. The highest ranked barons and knights filled the rest of the long table, each holding the same facial expression: barely concealed grief.

She raised her gaze to Arthur's only to see pain reflecting in them.

"The king is dying."


	17. Chapter 16

AN: I am going to try to post this a bit earlier than I have been lately. I forget that I have some international readers and if I post late Friday nights, then it will techinically be Saturday for them. I think I am going to try to post as early Fridays as possible and, if I know that I will be busy, I will post late Thursday night. Would that work? We are almost at the end. :)

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Merlin".

Gwen almost felt as if she had travelled back in time.

Kneeling in the chapel with the rest of the court felt like when she had prayed for Arthur's recovery many years earlier. Perhaps the greatest difference of all was the lack of Queen Igraine absorbed in prayers next to her.

The Latin words rolled effortlessly off her tongue as she prayed as hard as she could for the king's life.

What would become of them all if Uther died now?

Arthur would become king, but was he ready? The _boy_ with the bloodless cheeks she had seen in the council chambers the day before certainly didn't look like a soon-to-be crowned king. She didn't doubt her intended's ability to lead his people, yet the king's sickness was so sudden and no one gave the Prince any time to prepare for full responsibility. No one could handle such power while in a shock such as this.

Gaius' first diagnosis regarding the king had been illness caused by stress and old age. Meanwhile, rumours among scared courtiers spread like fire. Some even feared that the king had somehow caught a disease of some sort leading to talk of evacuating the citadel. When it seemed that no one else around him was falling ill, the call to quarantine the castle was silenced. Yet the question still remained: what sickness did Uther contract?

Around her knelt the majority of the court, also pleading for the king's life. Every servant that could be spared from crucial work had joined their masters and mistresses in the chapel these past two days. Even though she had not seen it, Guinevere knew that the townsfolk along with the rest of the surrounding nobles were praying in the elaborate stone church in town. With the magnitude of their prayers and the unity of their purpose, she hoped fervently that God would grant their hope.

The thunderous sound of the doors thrust open against stonewalls threw her from her prayer filled reverie. The lady turned around along with the majority of those gathered, and stared as a troop of castle guards filled the chapel. The elderly bishop stepped down from the altar, surprise clear on his wrinkled face.

"Gentlemen... what is the meaning of this? This is a house of God. I remind you to show a bit more respect-"

"I beg your pardon, Your Excellency," interrupted Sir Ector, as he stepped out from the gathering of armed men. Gwen craned her neck to catch a better sight of them, spotting her father's former guard amongst the bunch. "But I have orders from His Highness Prince Arthur to conduct an arrest."

Gasps rippled across those kneeling in their pews as the knight stepped forward.

The young woman felt her brows furrow. Whatever the fugitive had done must have been grave enough for the arrest to be so urgent. Nothing short of murder would have caused the men to barge in.

Ector's eyes scanned the assembled crowd, coming to rest upon the pew that consisted of Guinevere's household.

"There: the one in green."

A startled gasp at her right caused Guinevere's heart to nearly stop.

No...

Before she knew what was happening two of the guards were forcing their way down her pew to the maid kneeling next to her.

Freya.

"Please!" the young woman nearly shrieked as the guard closest to her latched a hand around her thin wrist. "I didn't do anything!"

Manacles were strapped around the girl's hands as she was dragged toward the doors of the chapel.

Without thinking Gwen began to push past those standing in the way, desperate to get to her friend. She batted aside Batilda's hand trying to halt her movements, and instead broke out onto the aisle.

"Freya!"

Her voice seemed lost over the hundreds of whispers about the room, tainted with the far off cries of the servant girl.

Gwen bolted from the chapel, not caring if she would be judged for such behaviour as a future queen, and took off after the armed men.

A few of them turned in response to her callings, yet none halted except for Sir Ector.

He steadied her by grasping her elbows once she neared him, allowing her to compose herself somewhat.

"Where... where are you taking her?" she blurted out, feeling Batilda's skilful braid begin to slowly disentangle itself from her sprint.

"She is charged with the crime of poisoning His Majesty, my lady," he explained, his tone calm, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked mare. "If you would let me escort you back to your chambers-"

"No!"

Both the knight and future princess seemed surprised by her outburst. Gwen quickly schooled her features into that of determination as she drew herself to stand taller.

"I demand that you allow me into the council chamber, this instant."

Her very words sounded as if they had come from another's lips. The two stared each other down for a moment, weighing their options. Finally, Sir Ector seemed to crack. Perhaps he pitied his archery student, or perhaps he realized that the woman before him was to be queen one day soon and was not to be turned an enemy. Either way, he reluctantly stepped aside for her to pass.

Without another word Guinevere hurried past him, turning the corner and nearly skidding to a stop at the great wooden doors. A stern look at the two men guarding the door jolted them into action. Once they had pushed the heavy double doors open for her she stormed into the crowded room. The king's advisers, having been seated moments before, hastily jumped to their feet as she entered.

Two guards moved to hold her back as she descended upon Freya, kneeling upon the stone floor. A quick wave from the prince set the two men back to their posts.

"What is the meaning of this?" she questioned, taking a step closer to the shivering girl.

Silence filled the room, interrupted only by Freya's weeps.

Finally Arthur raised himself from his father's chair at the head of the table, leaning his hands flat against the wooden surface. "Gaius discovered the source of my father's ailment," he began, his face devoid of any emotion. He was fighting to keep from looking at her eyes, which formed a feeling of dread in her stomach. Why wasn't he looking at her? "He was poisoned." He raised his left hand, his mother's ring reflecting the morning sunlight, and pointed at the trembling girl. "She tried to kill him."

Gwen felt as if someone had punched her in her stomach. _What?  
><em>

"Freya...? She would do no such thing," she attempted to her prince to see reason. Laying a delicate hand upon the girl's shoulder she faced him. "You know as well as I that she would not be capable of such crime."

A furrow appeared in his brows. "Yes, I know _as well as _you, _very little_ of what she is capable of. We have not known her for that long … a month's acquaintance is certainly enough to deceive us."

His tone was bordering patronizing as he hinted the truth to her. She felt her cheeks flame in shame for a moment. True, she did not know Freya for that long. But the month that she had spent in the maid's company was enough to tell her that the girl wouldn't lay a finger on another person, let alone the king.

"I believe that you are mistaken," she responded, drawing herself up to her full height. She knew these men were waiting for her to crack, to fall into tears. She couldn't let herself when the life of an innocent was at stake.

One of the elderly barons of the counsel piped up from among the rest, drawing Gwen's attention to him. "She was seen by the guards outside of His Majesties chambers, my lady," he explained. "She was the one to deliver the poisoned wine to him."

For the first time since Gwen had stepped into the room Freya spoke up. "But I did not do anything to it!" she insisted, drawing herself up on her knees. "I already told you... the blonde woman gave it to me!"

"Of course you will try to press the blame on someone else," another lord added, sneering down at the snivelling prisoner. "What with the executioners' blade resting at your neck."

Guinevere squeezed the girl's shoulder before taking hurried steps to Arthur. "She had just been returning from Gaius' on an errand that night... she told _me_ that she had stopped to deliver something to Uther. Why would she tell me if she had an elaborate plan of poisoning him?"

Yet his expression remained blank as she searched his eyes for any sign of acknowledging the truths that she spoke. In a last ditch effort she took up one of his hands, so much larger than hers, into both of her own. "Please Arthur. You must see reason."

His gaze met hers for a brief moment before his eyes flickered over to the two guards at the door. "Escort the Lady Guinevere back to her chambers while the girl is taken to the dungeons," he ordered, his tone flat as he avoided looking at his future wife's stunned expression.

She attempted to jerk back her arm as one of the guards moved to grasp her, yet the other was there to restrain her. "You can't do this!" she insisted, nearly tripping over herself as she was none-too-gently led from the room.

"Arthur! Please!"

She didn't care that she was acting childish as she smacked against the man's chain covered arms all the way to the door. She didn't care that her behaviour was unbecoming for a future queen as she repeated her plea to the stern looking knight at the head of the table.

A human life was at stake.

Freya, in a moment of desperation, moved forward quickly to entreat the prince. One of the men that had been a part of her arrest pulled back on her, catching a hold of her sleeve with his fingertips. With a loud tear the cloth disconnected itself from where it had been sewn into her bodice.

Which then allowed the tattoo beneath the fabric to be revealed to the entire room.

Guinevere stopped fighting for a moment and, would she have had a clear head, might have used the chance to get away as the two guards beside her were just a shocked. Instead the three, along with the rest of the room's occupants, took in the druid pattern inked into the maid's shoulder.

Too late Freya moved to cover up the exposed layer of skin.

"You– you're a druid?" Arthur asked, finally moving around the table toward her.

Silence was her answer as she kept her eyes downcast. He shook his head in disgust before nodding to one of the guards.

"Get her out of my sight."

Seeing the girl's tears return snapped Gwen back into action.

Morgana had shown her that magic was not just used for evil and, inadvertently, Merlin did also. Freya was one of them, right? Not one of the magically inclined that Uther had waged war against?

The two men escorting her had an easier job than expected, as she was rather dazed at what had just been discovered.

As she was led into her chambers Batilda looked up in surprise from where she had been stationed before the fireplace. Evidently the woman had returned from the chapel after her mistress' dash from the room.

"Take your hands off of her!" she nearly shrieked, yet her outrage was not needed. The men already had let go of the young lady's arms and respectively bowed, despite the recent manhandling.

"I would suggest for you not to seek an audience with the prince just yet, my lady," the nearest one added, keeping his gaze downcast. "It will not be permitted."

Without another word the two left Arthur's future princess and her nurse in solitude.

Gingerly Gwen rubbed her arms as she stalked into her bedchamber.

The nurse followed quickly upon the girl's heels, reaching out a hand to comfort her.

"They … they think she poisoned the King!" she burst, collapsing into the matron's arms and allowing herself to cry for the life of her friend.

**0o0o0**

After she had managed to regain some form of composure, the seventeen-year-old lady lifted herself from her nurse's lap, where she had been resting her head. The older woman's hands were smoothing the girl's curls but paused as Gwen straightened.

"I know that she has magic, and the king decreed that such a thing is wrong but... " She shook her head. "I know she didn't hurt him. She doesn't have it in her. Surely you've seen it too? Out of everyone we know her best. You, me, Merlin..."

Without a warning Gwen sprung up from her bed and hurried out of the room.

"My lady?" the nurse inquired, startled, but the Prince's bride simply waved her hand to placate her nurse before hurrying from her chambers. Hopefully with Arthur busy in the council chamber, Merlin would be with Gaius.

The familiar route to the physician's chambers seemed to take aeons even though she did not encounter anyone to encumber her path. Once there, she almost didn't register Merlin emerging from Gaius', her head still spinning from all that's happened so far.

"Merlin!"

He turned quickly at the address, frowning slightly as she approached. His eyes, although dry, appeared to be rimmed red. "My lady," he greeted her, looking concerned as she nearly skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Please, you have to help me," she clutched onto his arm. Familiarity with servants be damned! "We have to help her."

Guinevere didn't need to explain who _'she'_ was; the boy's expression was enough to tell that he recognized whom she spoke of.

"But what can we do?" he asked, his voice going quiet as a maid, loaded down  
>with folded sheets, passed by them. Merlin pushed open the door to Gaius' chambers before beckoning her inside. She followed him without any objections and leaned against the wooden door, assuring that it was firmly shut and they were in the confidence of two. The room was empty save for them. Gaius' table, normally <em>moderately<em> organized, was strewn with empty bottles and half mixed potions.

"He thinks that he might have found an antidote," the young man explained, answering her silent question.

Amidst all the chaos surrounding Freya's impending execution Gwen had almost forgotten about the welfare of her guardian. Guilt ran over her like a cold spray of water. How could she have forgotten that Uther was dangling at the brink of death? "Do you think Gaius will be able to heal him?" she asked as she finally stepped away from the door.

Merlin took a moment in answering: "Gaius will find a way." He seemed so certain that Gwen almost felt relieved.

Silence fell between the two, until Gwen finally asked the question that had been nagging her mind. "Did you know that Freya is a druid?"

She thought that he might have tried to protest that he didn't know a thing, or perhaps that he would look at her in utter confusion. But instead he faced her head on, meeting her inquiring eyes as he nodded in a silent confirmation. "It was for her own good that I was the only one," he explained, toying with an empty beaker that Gaius had left upon his worktable. "If anyone were to find out..." He stopped there.

Suddenly he was pacing in front of the bench and then without warning he flung the glass against the far wall, shattering the vial into hundreds of pieces.

Guinevere flinched at the noise yet did not chastise his outburst of frustrated emotion. Were she not a lady she would have done something similar; as it was, her up bringing held against such spontaneous actions.

Only realizing what he did then he quickly turned to the woman. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to.." he began, searching for an excuse for his behaviour.

She shook her head, taking a step forward and placing a gentle hand on his arm. "We will get her out of this. Out of everyone in the citadel the two of us know her best. I do not believe for a moment that she has committed this crime." She frowned, feeling the emotion tugging at her skin. "She spoke of a blonde woman. There are hundreds of servants that fit that vague description, how can we narrow them down?"

Merlin shook his head, yet his eyes remained determined. "We have to find a way. As soon as possible I'll speak to her, to find out more of this woman. And you, milady, must go speak to Arthur. If he will listen to anyone, it's you."

Anger and annoyance tinted her cheeks red as she shook her head. "He wouldn't listen in the council chambers; what's to say that he will listen to me now?"

She muttered something about 'thick-headed princes', which prodded a small smile from the once morose looking servant.

"Believe me, you underestimate yourself."

**0o0o0**

She had pondered what time would fit best to catch Arthur alone for a private conversation. The prince was in meetings with the council for the rest of the afternoon and she knew after their last confrontation, in front of the entire council no less, she would not be permitted into the room. There had been no chance to speak to him at supper as with Uther indisposed the two took their dinner separately.

She had received a smidgen of good news however: Uther seemed to be responding to Gaius' latest treatment.

Perhaps with his father on the mend Arthur would be less harsh with punishing Freya. It was a thought she dared not voice, as she realized how unconvincing it sounded.

Night time

That was her only opportunity.

After retiring that night, she lay awake in wait for Batilda to leave. The woman normally finished tidying up after Gwen went to bed before heading off to her own chamber to rest. She seemed to take longer than usual but Gwen just amounted this to her own impatience. Finally the chamber door closed and, after waiting a few more cautious minutes, the lady slipped from her bed. Reaching blindly in the darkness she managed to grab her dressing gown at the foot of her bed. Securing it around herself she slipped into a soft pair of flat slippers, before entering her reception room.

The tapers that had been lit around supper time were burnt down nearly to the end of their wicks. She silently thanked Batilda for not extinguishing them before leaving. With the rain pelting the castle walls outside there would be no hope of moonlight to light her way. Sneaking out like a thief in the night, she tiptoed out of her chambers barely breathing. Quietly she took the back stairs to Arthur's chambers, jumping at every clap of thunder expecting it to be a guard or a servant around the next corner.

With her heart beating an errant pattern in her chest she raised her knuckles to knock on his door. A moment later his blonde head stuck out, taking her in with a look of surprise.

"Guinevere... ?" he started, apparently not going anywhere with his greeting.

Awkwardly she shifted her footing.

"Do you mind if I come in?" she inquired and had the pleasure of seeing him nearly trip over himself in an attempt to open the door further. It was only then that the implications of her visit had sunk in. Here she was dressed in her night attire, merely covered by a dressing gown, demanding a private audience with her intended, also in his night clothing, in the middle of a stormy night.

This was exactly why she hadn't told Batilda. Or why she should have…

"I heard that Uncle is doing better," she employed the term of affection she used on occasion when speaking of the king. She watched as he moved to the table covered with state documents. Arthur leaned against it rather casually, seeming quite fine with the two of them being dressed the way that they were. And she might have believed him, were it not for the way he was looking at her, taking in every aspect of her from covered only by a layer of velvet and linen.

Clearing his throat, the prince forced himself to concentrate on what she had just said. "He regained consciousness. Truly, Gaius is something of a miracle worker."

She gave him a half-smile, probing one step closer. "Then you can hasten Freya's release?"

His eyes narrowed, his relaxed stance vanishing. "And why would I do that?" he inquired, standing up straight like a soldier.

She willed herself not to feel daunted by their height difference or the thunder that seemed to shake the castle walls. "Because she is innocent, as I had told you before."

Her tone was surprisingly even despite her desire to simply run back to her bed and hide. From the storm. From him.

"She spoke of another person who gave her the wine for your father. Why haven't you looked into that?"

He scoffed as if her question was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. "It is just an attempt to push the blame onto someone else," he explained, slowly as if he was talking to a child. "And besides that, she has magic. By my father's law she shouldn't even be breathing any more."

Her heartbeat increased at his patronizing tone yet she remained silent. Instead she took yet another step closer to him, unconsciously forming her hands into fists at her sides.

"You cannot count it out as such," she persisted even as he turned to move away from her. Her hand shot out to rest upon his forearm in an attempt to hold him in place.

He was sloppy and didn't even bother to tie together the front of his tunic, despite the presence of his bride. His skin, so warm beneath the loose white fabric, sent a shiver up her spine.

In a flash he broke free of her grasp and suddenly his own hand was holding firmly onto her arm. "And who are you to be giving me such advice, hmm?" he inquired, his blue eyes almost wary and circumspect as he took her in.

"You have to learn your place, Guinevere. I can't have you barging into council meetings just because one of your friends has been slighted. Honestly, I think you have spent too much time with Morgana-"

Without even registering it she lifted her free hand to slap him.

Years of training kept her hand from connecting with the flesh of his cheek as his free hand drew up stopping her offending limb from it's intended target. The jolt of such a block sent her stumbling forward, straight into him, and she braced herself against his chest. For a moment the two of them stood like that, the room quiet save for their heavy breathing and the thunder roaring outside. She's witnessed his severe aggression and determination earlier, his stubbornness, and this same night she was closer to him than ever. Guinevere could feel every inch of his body outlined against her own, and for the first time she was truly intimidated by him.

Without warning his lips descended upon hers.

To the surprise of both parties, she responded.

Perhaps it was her anger of Freya's situation, or her frustration with the scolding he had just given her. Maybe it was the weather outside, or even the foreign feeling of something akin to lust she had felt when pressed against him.

Whatever the reason, she kissed him as she had never kissed him before. Her hands gripped onto his tunic, and he held her closer. His lips pressed to hers, as if they were one, formed a warmth in her chest.

Another crack of thunder along with the need to breathe forced her to wake up and stumble back, away from him.

She saw his eyes lighten, after having turned almost black with emotion prior to their unexpected embrace.

She realized exactly what she had done.


	18. Chapter 17

AN: I can't believe I am almost finished with this. Thank you all for sticking with me. Next chapter is the wedding. :)

I noticed that a few of you were either surprised at Arthur's actions or annoyed with him. But I ask for you to just step into his shoes for a moment: his father has been nearly killed, he could be king any day now, and Gwen wants him to let the only person he can pin the blame to go? And add on the fact that she is actually speaking back to him? I am going for a more historically correct version than the show and he frankly isn't used to being spoken back to by a woman.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

Quickly Gwen stepped back from Arthur, feeling her cheeks grow cherry red.

"I, uh," she stammered, looking anywhere but at him.

Arthur wasn't helping her in the least, as he seemed to be still caught up in what had just transpired between them.

He took a step and raised one hand in an attempt to draw her back to him but, managing to regain some of her wits, Guinevere evaded his grasp.

"Goodnight," she nearly squeaked, leaving the room as fast as she could while trying to remain composed. Once she was in the corridor she practically sprinted for the back staircase. Once upon the stairs she allowed herself to pause, bracing against the stonewall as she fought to catch her breath.

What had happened?

She had thought she had been holding her own quite well until he had started berating her. Whether he was chastising her in their childhood or now it stung the same. She hadn't really planned on slapping him; it had been a split decision. But when he had criticized Morgana's sealed fate, her friend …

For him to think that his own sister was a bad influence on her seemed unforgivable at the time.

And then his kiss...

With a trembling hand she brought her fingertips to rest upon her now sensitive lips.

Was that what she was to expect in her marriage? Embraces that took her very breath away? Quickly she continued her trek back to her chambers, knowing that if anyone were to see her they would jump to conclusions. But really, would their assumptions be that far off?

Silently she crept back into her chambers before bundling herself beneath the blankets once more. As she waited for sleep to arrive she concentrated on the thudding of her heart against her breast, the very heart that was causing her to feel the most confused she had ever felt.

**0o0o0**

Arthur truly hadn't meant to kiss her. Well, it _had _been a pleasant surprise, but still...

His father's poisoning had shaken him to the core. He supposed that he had taken his father's presence for granted after the long ago death of his mother. But to think that the man could have actually died from the potion made him feel as if he was thirteen years old again, accompanying the king on his first campaign against the Northern invaders.

Was he ready to be king?

He had taken on his father's state duties while the older man had been bed ridden. Paperwork he could accomplish. It was the feeling of the entire kingdom upon his shoulders that made him feel inadequate, inexperienced. Then, he wouldn't be sitting upon the throne alone; Gwen would be there.

Gwen.

He sincerely hoped that the painful tightening in his chest whenever she was near never ceased. Nor the jolt that seemed to run through his every limb whenever their lips touched.

He felt a bit of pride welling in his chest. She had responded to his kiss for the first time this night. That was progress, was it not? He had wished that she wouldn't be too unwilling for him to touch her. Their first sexual encounter was going to be awkward enough without her frozen stiff as a board. Hers reluctance was a reaction that he rarely came across. Why, Arabella had been more than willing when his attentions had turned upon her. Isobel too. Most found it flattering that they caught the eye of the prince of the realm. Those other girls, those memories, had fallen apart when the veil had been lifted from his eyes concerning Guinevere. They were but a distant memory, despite the ladies' in question attempts to revive their liaison.

There was something lurking beneath Gwen's pristine exterior that he wished to bring out. A flame that was concealed deep beneath her humility, compassionate nature and timid gestures. He knew, from that single kiss, that she had questions, that her body was willing to learn more. That she was curious.

Well, he had plenty of time to educate, explore her, didn't he?

Till death do them part...

**0o0o0**

Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Gwen struggled to keep herself attentive as Batilda fussed about her receiving chambers. The entire afternoon had been reserved to interviewing prospective ladies of the court to fulfil the roles of 'ladies-in-waiting' for the future princess. Her newly expanded household, which would also consist of a steward, chambermaid, and page, allotted three court ladies to become her companions. She was acquainted with a good amount of the ladies of the court, but was not exactly on a 'friendly' level with them. During her childhood she had been stuck to Morgana's side and hadn't bothered to venture out. Even with the newly married princess gone, Gwen still had yet to truly make close friends with these women. Moreover, she would have to be more than friends with these new ladies-in-waiting; she was to be in charge of them, their future marriages, the safety of their lives. Why, she could remember the troop that Igraine had back when she had been a child. She would be expected to take on more girls once she became queen.

Normally she would have tried to pay attention during such an important series of interviews. Yet, with Freya's fate being discussed on the other side of the castle, she found her mind straying from the rather unimportant appointment she had for that day.

Even if she did not have the interviews she knew that she would not be allowed within ten feet of the council chamber doors, especially after the incident that had passed between herself and Arthur the night prior.

She ducked her head in an attempt to hide the blush that threatened her cheeks at the very thought. With a deep breath she forced any such thoughts of the night before from her mind. She couldn't waste time thinking on her personal life while the mortal life of her friend was being decided upon.

Yet Arthur and Freya were not her only problems: the king's health had never been far from her mind. The man that had become a father to her had been so close to death bringing memories of her own father. It was somewhat amazing how much this man, although not biologically related to her, was the closest thing she had to a father. She had visited him shortly after his attack yet with the drama of Freya's arrest she had not been able to make repeat visits. Guilt racked at her, until she remembered the life that was being questioned at the moment.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Batilda inquired, giving her a curious look.

Gwen cleared her throat and nodded.

"Send the first one in, please."

She retreated to the table stationed in her reception chambers where a sheet of parchment, inkwell, and quill lay. She had requested such materials in order to keep track of the ladies presented to her. It was an efficient way to keep track of who she could see becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, along with a distraction to keep her from thinking of Freya's judgement.

She could only hope that she had gotten through to Arthur.

"The Lady Eleanor of the House of Dubois, my lady."

Batilda was replaced by a fifteen-year-old girl, who was then ushered closer to the future queen by the nurse.

Guinevere perked up at the family name, recognizing it as Sir Leon's.

"Good morrow, my lady," the blonde greeted her, dipping into a curtsey before her.

Gwen almost made to stand and curtsey back but had to remind herself that she no longer had to do such a thing to such a noblewoman as Lady Eleanor. It felt odd and almost rude, yet she kept herself planted in her chair.

Gwen observed the nervous looking girl for a moment, taking in the similarities she shared with her brother. She had her brother's eyes; there was no denying that. Yet her hair and her stature spoke of another family member's bloodline having been passed onto her.

"You are related to Sir Leon?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

The young woman's eyes, which had been trained upon the floor as soon as she had raised herself from her curtsey, flickered up to Guinevere for a brief moment.

"He is my brother, my lady," she answered, flicking her gaze to the stones once more.

'She is actually afraid of me,' Gwen thought, finding the entire situation funny enough to laugh. Thankfully she had the grace to keep in any show of her mirth, and instead warmed her tone. The poor thing had no need to fear her.

"Sir Leon is one of the best knights of the realm. I am sure your family is honoured to have him for a son."

To her pleasure the girl looked up, finally meeting her gaze as a small smile broke across her lips.

Gwen took that moment to scrawl the girl's name on the piece of parchment.

"Have you just come to court? I have yet to see you before now."

She looked back up from the parchment, glad to see that the girl's shoulders were no longer hunched from nerves.

The blonde nodded.

"My father thought it was best that I join the court, my lady," she answered, shifting her grip on the swatch of cloth clasped in her hands.

"He said it would be beneficial for my age." She awkwardly cleared her throat. "I've just turned fifteen, my lady."

Gwen nodded, knowing the importance of being brought to the court at such an age. She herself, had her father been alive, would most likely have been sent at thirteen or fourteen.

Glancing up from her parchment she noticed for the first time the cloth in the girl's hands.

"You brought a sample of your needlework?" she questioned, beckoning the timid lady forward so that she may see it. Eleanor nodded and took the few steps that led her to Gwen's table. She gently placed the piece of linen before the noblewoman.

Gwen smoothed out the fabric as she took in the delicate stitches, which construed the Dubois family crest. She traced a fingertip over the colored lines, nodding slightly. "This is very good," she commented, catching the pleased smile on the young woman's face. Gwen herself was handy with a needle, but this girl's was much better. It seemed that Eleanor, unlike Guinevere, had the patience to sit through the hours such work required.

"I would like for you to embroider my wedding sheets. Would you do that for me?"

As she was still studying the young woman's work she missed the astounded look that had fallen across Eleanor's face. She did, however, hear a gasp.

"Really?" she asked, failing to keep excitement from her voice.

Gwen grinned, forgetting for a moment that she should be trying to remain aloof and proper.

"It would be something like this," she said, taking up her quill and tearing off a piece of parchment from where she had been writing about the women. With the careful handwriting hammered into her by years of tutoring, she wrote out an "A" and "G".

"I will leave the design to you, but I suppose there should be some kind of intertwined initials, a crest.."

She handed the scrap to the girl who was currently grinning from ear to ear.

"I will speak to you shortly about it. Would that be all right?"

The young woman dipped into a curtsey once more after retrieving the parchment and her needlework sample.

"Thank you, my lady," she responded, backing toward the door. "You shan't be disappointed." Giving the future princess a quick smile she ducked back out into the hallway.

**0o0o0**

Had that really just happened? Had she really just been asked to complete such an important job? For the women who would become princess- nay- queen of the very citadel she was currently standing in? An inconspicuous pinch to her shoulder assured her that she was correct.

Eleanor hadn't dreamed that such a thing would happen when she had set out from her family's estate nearly a week prior. Why, she had been lucky enough to be included on the list of prospective ladies to be attendants to the future queen. Her father had served bravely under King Uther, but she suspected that it was her brother's service that was the reason for her family's appointed favour. From what she had heard he was the prince's right hand and advisor on the battlefield.

Her thoughts turned from her family back to what had transpired during her interview. Such a request from the Lady meant that she was to be chosen to be one of her companions, didn't it? Even if it didn't, she would be able to say that it had been she who had carefully stitched the royal couple's sheets. The sheets, God willing, that the next king would be conceived on.

"I cannot take her holy virgin attitude any longer."

"Remember that Lancelot? They were making eyes at one other the entire length of his visit. Probably did it the first chance they got."

She pulled up short, having just been about to turn the corner of the corridor when she had heard the offensive gossip. Carefully she edged closer to the stonewall, listening intently to the two women courtiers beyond the bend.

"She looks like such a bore though. You'll see; Arthur will be coming around looking for some _entertainment_ after their wedding. Poor man, she may be attractive, but that won't help when she's lying there stiff as a board."

Feminine laughs could be heard as the two continued in the opposite direction.

Tentatively Eleanor peeped around the corner, watching the two noblewomen walking away.

Hadn't the one on the left, who had first accused the Lady Guinevere, welcomed her personally to court the day of her arrival? And the redhead on the right… Eleanor thought that she had seen the girl more than once trailing after her brother.

Her earlier elation turned into apprehension as she felt her stomach turn.

Suddenly this new and exciting place didn't seem as interesting and bright as she once thought.

**0o0o0**

"The Prince!"

The councilmen, having been seated moments before, rose to their feet as Arthur was announced. With the coronet of his father's official heir about his brow, the prince strode past the noblemen to his father's vacated throne. Hiding the apprehension and anxiety welling up inside of him at such a move, he took the seat as quickly as he could. The throne room, so imposing with the lack of courtiers milling about, was eerily quiet once the men took their seats along the heavy ironed table. Each man, according to his importance, lined the table with the king's throne at the centre.

Raising his gaze to the guards at the door he called: "Bring forth the prisoner".

The men dutifully opened the heavy wooden doors to reveal Freya, manacled once more and escorted by three guards. Two held her shoulders in a tight grip, while the third kept a sword aimed at her back. It was a necessary precaution: the girl had magic.

Arthur imperceptibly tightened his grip on the armrests of his father's throne. Could he send this girl to death without a single thought? He had killed more than one man in his career as knight and head of the king's army. Yet, the keyword had been _man_. Could this shivering thing with fear in her eyes be an ambitious killer who had personally wished his father dead?

His knuckles tightened a fraction more upon the wood.

Damn Gwen for putting doubts into his head.

Geoffrey of Monmouth droned on about why this trial was called to order, yet Arthur was not listening.

Was it possible that the poisoning had been an attempt by the druids as a whole, and not simply this maid? She had spoken of another woman, mayhap an accomplice. Perhaps there had been some truth to her words.

He knew that he should simply harden himself and sentence the girl. The facts were all there...she had been the one to give his father the poison, she had magic. Yet he had seen killers. Seen those prepared to take another's life. The sight of this pale child, so unlike any of those murderers, prevented him from cutting off the court record keeper and simply sending the girl to the block.

The druids had suffered from his father's hostile stance on magic. He had seen countless numbers of them hanged upon the square before the entire court. They had a motive then, yet could this girl have been part of a larger plot?

"-I didn't do it!"

Refraining from jumping, Arthur realized that he hadn't been listening to a single word in Geoffrey's interrogation.

"Do you deny giving the king the poisoned ale? Hmm? You were seen by two guards."

Sobs racked the girl's chest as she struggled to compose herself.

"I gave it to him, but I didn't do anything to it! Please...you need to find that other woman. She is still out there!"

Mutterings moved up and down the table of noblemen as Geoffrey recorded the girl's testimony upon a sheet of parchment.

"How do you judge, Your Highness?" he finally inquired, setting down his quill.

Feeling the eyes of every single person in the room upon him, Arthur took a moment to think over his words.

"She has played a part in this assassination, that much is clear," he began, making sure to speak slowly so as to formulate his thoughts better. He was finding it increasingly difficult as 'what if's' flew about in his mind. "Yet we have not looked into her accomplice."

He raised his gaze onto Freya, seeing the fear emanating from her very body.

"I declare life imprisonment. That is, until we discover if there truly was an accomplice. The druids, no doubt."

Gray heads nodded up and down the table while a select few seemed discouraged that there wasn't a blood verdict.

"But if the girl is lying she will be sentenced to death immediately."

Without another word he stood, prompting the rest of the men to do the same, as the prisoner was nearly dragged from the room.

He just hoped that he hadn't spared his father's supposed killer from a fate that she deserved.

**0o0o0**

With a heavy sigh Guinevere allowed her quill to slip from her fingers. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she had managed to get through the tittering group of women resting outside of her reception room door. Some had showed some prospective, yet there were quite a few that were hoping to be taken for the status of the offered position only. She honestly didn't want such people around her; they were to be her companions after all.

She had found her mind straying countless times to the trial on the other side of the citadel. What would become of her friend? She had hoped to send Batilda out to gather news but the nurse had been helping her with the never ending flood of noblewomen. By this hour the trial must have be long over.

Standing from her place at the polished table she turned to her long-time caretaker.

"I think I shall go see to the king's condition before supper. I shan't be long," she lied easily, a little surprised at how Batilda believed her without a second thought. Perhaps Arthur had been right: maybe she had spent too much time with Morgana.

Leaving her chambers and the prospect of picking out her household behind she retraced her steps from the previous afternoon. Merlin would know of the outcome, wouldn't he? She couldn't march up to Arthur and ask. The simple thought of her betrothed's name caused her cheeks aflame; he wouldn't take her seriously.

Catching the attention of a passing page she inquired as to the location of the prince's manservant.

"I believe I saw him helping Gaius in the courtyard… "The servant's words trailed off as Gwen strode past him. Running to the square was not required; she nearly collided with the two men in question as she appeared from the stairwell. Seeing the urgency in Uther's ward's eyes Gaius quickly excused himself, leaving the lady and the servant alone.

"What did Arthur decide?" she asked, searching the young man's expression for any hint of the girl's fate.

Merlin shook his head, drawing her into an alcove a moment later.

"Imprisonment, for now," he explained, keeping an eye out for any passer-by.

"He said he would look into the 'blonde woman' but I've searched the entire staff for her." His eyes, rimmed in red, looked as if they were to water once more. "He'll have her executed if he can't find the suspected woman."

What to do?

She had already tried pleading with Arthur and that had gotten her nowhere.

She couldn't speak to the king as he was currently drifting in and out of consciousness.

No, she would take matters into her own hands.

"You have to understand what I am thinking is completely absurd," she began, speaking slowly as the very idea sounded idiotic in her own mind.

She had apparently captured the boy's attention, as he eyes were locked onto her.

"You have been studying with Gaius somewhat, correct? You have seen him make my sleeping draughts? "

He arched a brow but remained silent, nodding.

"And it wouldn't be a crime for me to give my former maid one last farewell?"

A smile graced his formerly morose features for a brief moment.

"I could give a hand in the kitchens. Perhaps personally send down the dinner of the guards on duty."

The two grinned like children, despite the plan involving treason and the life of an innocent.

**0o0o0 **

"Thank you," Gwen said softly, nodding to the guard who accompanied her to Freya's cell. The man bowed and took a step back. Turning her head slightly she regarded him from the corner of her eye. "If you would allow me some privacy, please. I wish to speak to the prisoner." Her gaze shifted to the frightened girl in the cell, willing her with her eyes to remain quiet. "She was my personal maid, after all."

With a whispered 'milady' the guard left them, retreating from the row of cells to the outer chamber.

As soon as the door closed behind him Gwen reached forward to clutch at the iron bars.

Freya stifled a cry and she nearly tripped over herself to reach her friend.

"I know that you are innocent," Gwen began, her voice barely above a whisper. She grasped Freya's frail hands, so cold next to her own, as she spoke. "And I am going to get you out of here."

Hope danced across the girl's face at her words.

"You...will?" she asked, as if Gwen were an apparition sent to trick her. Seeing the girl's doubt, Guinevere squeezed Freya's hands.

"Myself and Merlin. But please, you have to remain calm. When either of us tells you to do something you must do it without questioning. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded wordlessly, tears streaming from her eyes now.

"How… how can I ever thank you?" she began, sucking in breaths in order to make herself intelligible. "You knew that I was innocent, you believed me. You're risking your own neck..."

She shook her head.

She knew that if they were to be caught, she herself would be in no danger. Merlin on the other hand...

Arthur may not execute his servant, but she had little doubt that her guardian would do so without a thought.

"Merlin will lead you from the city after it is safe. We were thinking of sending you to Avalon, to work with The Lady."

In the dim lighting from the torch resting on the far wall Gwen could see Freya's eyes widen.

"To study under the lady?" she asked, her breathless tone expressing her utter astonishment.

Gwen nodded, casting a quick look to the door to make sure that the guard hadn't returned before turning back to the maid.

"We can't track down the druids in such short notice, so The Lady of the Lake was our next best option. She has been known to take in those with magical abilities; perhaps she will accept you."

Rather, the two were hoping that Nimueh would take Freya without question.

"I've stayed too long, they may grow suspicious," Gwen reluctantly stood back from the bars.

"Take care." She smiled wistfully, stepping away from the shackled Druid. "I hope that we might be able to see each other once more."

Swiftly she turned to the door, rapping her knuckles upon it to signal the guard.

Forcing herself to keep calm she stepped into the outer chamber, nodding farewell to the gathered men. As she climbed the short flight of steps that would lead from the prison she passed Merlin on the stairs, holding a tray of dishes. She didn't dare make eye contact or give any impression that she had noticed him. Instead she passed on to Gaius' chambers to wait for the young sorcerer, praying that their plan would go off without a hitch.

**0o0o0**

Jumping as the door to the physician's chambers flew open, Gwen placed a hand on her chest to still her frantic heart. Merlin smiled sheepishly before closing the door to the corridor.

"We have at least twenty minutes," he explained, disappearing up the short flight of stairs that led to his own bed chamber. He emerged a few seconds later with a bag, presumably stuffed with supplies, and plopped down at Gaius' table.

Thankfully the physician had gone to attend Uther, as he did every night since the king's poisoning, leaving his chambers as a rendezvous point for the pair.

Gwen found herself wringing her hands, as she paced, having not consciously chosen such a habit.

"I will check to see if the guards are asleep on the presumption that I had forgotten my shawl," she repeated the plan, rechecking it for the hundredth time. "Since you tarried in delivering their supper they should be famished and have eaten it rather quickly. After they are asleep I'll lead Freya up to the exit through the servant's quarters, where you will be waiting with the horses already saddled.

Merlin nodded at her words, toying with the strap of his bag.

"You had best exit the city through the Darkling Wood; it will be much easier than taking the main road."

The two remained in silence for a few moments, caught up in their own thoughts as their hearts beat holes through their ribs.

After what seemed to be a painfully long amount of time the magician stood from the table.

"They should be thoroughly unconscious by now," he estimated, withdrawing a dark blue cloak from the bag he had taken to his room. He handed it to Gwen, the original owner of the garment, before nodding to the door.

"Good luck."

She paused, giving him a half smile at his words of hope.

"Be safe," she countered, clutching the fabric tightly in her hands before ducking out of the door.

The dimly lit corridor did nothing to calm her nerves as she fled toward the dungeon. Instead it made her feel even more wary, as if an armed guard or soldier was about to jump out from every doorway and catch onto her.

The two had gone over the plan countless times, yet it still seemed shaky. They truly wouldn't have been able to pull this off at this time if it were not for the dinner delivery for the night watchmen. Those men, working into the night, were served around nine in the evening. If they had attempted such an escape with the midday guard patrol they would be without the cover of darkness, which the two were counting on.

With shaking hands the lady pulled open the door that led down the winding staircase of the dungeon. She held her breath, straining her ears to eavesdrop on the talking of the guards, yet heard nothing. With soft footsteps she pattered down the stairs, taking in the drugged state of the guards.

As much as she wanted to exhale in relief, she knew that this was far from the end of it. There was much more to worry about.

She retrieved the skeleton key, stolen from the guard's keep, from a pouch at her girdle.

With fumbling fingers she prodded the key into the lock of Freya's cell-door.

"My lady?" the young woman inquired, almost not believing that the woman had come back from her.

With a 'click' the door unlocked and swung open with a quick push by the noblewoman.

"Hold out your hands," she ordered, taking a few steps toward the shackled maid. A few moments later the shackles fell away, allowing Freya to rub at her blistered wrists.

"Keep the hood up," Gwen instructed as she draped the velvet cape around her maid. Once she had tied the strings about Freya's neck she pulled up the hood of her own cape and led the way from the cell. Hoisting the torch that was resting in a bracket against the far wall, the young woman led her frightened friend into the guard's chamber. The men were still slumbering yet the sight of them so near the two fugitives, swords so close, sent shivers down both girls' backs.

Without another word the two mounted the stairs as quietly as they could.

Lady Guinevere emerged into the corridor first, brandishing her torch in the dim lighting. Finding no one to be there she tugged on the maid's hand and led her at something akin to a jog. As they hurried through the less ornate halls of the servant's quarters, deserted now that most of the staff had gone to bed, Gwen allowed a bit of hope to sneak into her heart. Could they make it?

She shouldered open the door leading to the small courtyard in the back of the castle, where the beggars of the town would wait after supper for the scraps of the nobles. A wave of relief rushed over her as she saw Merlin already astride his horse, shifting the reins from hand to hand as he waited for them.

Gwen moved to cup her hands in order to help the maid atop the second horse but was unexpectedly pulled into an embrace by the Druid girl.

"Thank you so much," she whispered against Gwen's curls, her tears leaving them damp. "I shan't forget this."

Gwen wordlessly embraced her friend back, glancing up at Merlin.

"Make haste," was all she was able to say, helping the girl up and avoiding looking at the two. She feared if she spoke once more she would weep. Without being told twice the servant spurred his horse forward, prompting the maid to follow. The guard at the gate wouldn't question them, or so they hoped: with her velvet cloak and fine steed it looked as if Merlin was simply Freya's steward.

Watching them race away filled Gwen with an odd feeling of accomplishment.

She had saved a life, but she had defied both her king and prince – her future husband.

Should she have had more faith in Arthur? Had it been the right thing to do?

She pictured the look of gratitude upon Freya's face when she had told her of their plan, the tears in the girl's eyes when she had been freed.

It had.

Silently she extinguished her torch before leaving it in an empty bracket outside the courtyard door.

Freya was safe, but she still had to make her way back to her chambers undetected.

**0o0o0**

Arthur normally did not have trouble falling asleep. After long hours of training and sweating beneath his layers of armour he fairly collapsed into bed each night. Since his father's illness, however, he had been finding it harder and harder to drift off. Yet tonight his father was not on his mind, but the girl he had sentenced that afternoon. Had he done the right thing? Part of him knew that she was too dangerous to keep around, that it might have been safer for himself and his people if he had ordered her to be executed. Yet his conscious wouldn't allow him to sentence her to such a fate before knowing all the facts. If she claimed an accomplice then it was his duty as the head of the Supreme Court to fully investigate it.

The druids.

Anyone could tell that Freya was a pleasant girl. Trusting. The druids must have used her and now wished to place all the blame on her. If he could just trace it back to them…

Kicking back his entangled blankets with annoyance the crown prince left his bed.

Hesitating he grabbed his brown, long coat before slipping it onto his muscular frame.

A walk would clear his head, or at least he hoped.

He paused momentarily to pull on his boots before exiting his chamber.

The corridors, so quiet, gave him enough room to think over the day's events.

Yet it was not just the trial on his mind, but the talk he had had with his father late that evening.

The King had, gratefully, responded to Gaius' treatments and remained in a clear state of mind from time to time. Arthur had nearly run to his father's side the moment he had heard that the man was awake. His father had first expressed pride in his son at successfully capturing his attempted-murderer but his pride quickly turned to annoyance at Arthur's qualms about ordering the Druid's execution.

The prince had tried to explain to his father that she might have been only a part of a larger scheme, yet his father had been fixed upon the word 'magic'. The young man had gratefully let the subject drop.

Still, Uther had not finished speaking to his son, even though Gaius had urged the king to rest.

He had instructed Arthur that the wedding would be moved forward, to the end of the month.

His father's reasoning was clear: if the assassination had been successful, Arthur would be a king unwed and without an heir. If something like this were to happen again... Uther was pushing for Arthur to have at least one _son_ before ultimately inheriting the crown.

Arthur himself had no problem with this. It didn't matter to him whether he was married this month or in August. In fact, there was an upside to being married sooner than later: he would have to restrain himself no longer. His passions could be set free and nobody would judge him. As for his bride, he knew that she had felt something when he had kissed her the previous night and he had not been able to forget her tender reaction.

He nearly bumped into the said maiden of heart as he turned the corner, schooling his features as if she was able to read his mind.

"You are up late," he teased, catching her startled expression. "Skipped out on the old woman did you?"

She rolled her eyes, playfully giving him a shove.

He could see that she reverted to their childhood actions whenever she grew flustered around him. He guessed that it was easier for her to see him as a childhood friend, or even a brother figure, rather than as her soon-to-be wedded husband. But this viewing of himself was not agreeable to him, and he hoped to change it soon.

"I had to think," she replied, bringing the hand that had pushed his shoulder quickly back to her side as if burned. She looked anywhere but him, her doe eyes avoiding expertly his blue searching ones.

Arthur shifted his footing as they stood in silence.

This might as well be a good time as ever to alert her about the change in the planning.

"Gwen, my father told me-"

His words were drowned out by the blaring sound of the warning bell ringing. He moved to view the courtyard below, reaching for the sword belt that wasn't about his waist.

"What-"

"The prisoner!"

The yell, muted by the glass panes, was still audible to the pair in the silent corridor.

He turned to her and it was made clear by her expression why the alarm had been rang.

His features turned severe and serious as he observed her, looking much like a child that was about to be scolded rather than a deceitful woman standing before him. Still, guilt covered her features.

"I had expected more of you," he said, his voice quiet with disappointment. Giving her a final look of disapproval he left her to join the guards, already beginning to search the citadel for the fugitive.


	19. Chapter 18

AN: Hi everyone. Since I posted this a bit later than normal, I will be going to back to my regular schedule this friday. But sadly, the next chapter is the last chapter. I'm really grateful for all the attention this has recieved, and the comments that you have taken time to write. Thank you so much. I've started "The Wife" and I honestly can't wait for you all to read it.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"Gwen, stay still!"

Morgana gave her yet another look of warning from where she was seated beside the empty fireplace, a half-hemmed sheet resting in her pale hands. Resisting the urge to pull a face, the bride-to-be barely kept from squirming.

With the skirt of her gown no longer jumping from her movements, the seamstress went once more to the hem with her needle. "Almost finished, my lady," she encouraged her as she pinned yet another bit of fabric.

'That was what she said nearly twenty minutes ago' Gwen thought, refraining from rolling her eyes.

Usually she was quite well behaved and patient during fittings, much more so than Morgana had been when they were being measured at the same time as children. Yet the fact that she was wearing her wedding dress of all gowns made her feel as if she had insects crawling up and down her limbs.

That was not to say that the gown was by any means horrid. On the contrary, she would have enjoyed wearing it for any other event. The ivory brocade was accented with gold thread, carefully stitched by the Camelot's seamstresses. Blue silk, ordered from the Continent encircled the waist to form a girdle, while the same silk was roped about her elbows. _Purity_. She knew even before discussing with the head seamstress what type of gown she wanted that she would be expected to have some blue worked into the ensemble. The excess blue cloth formed a cape that rested nearly to the floor, stopping about two inches above her skirt hem.

She could only imagine how late the women had had to stay up to finish the bride's gown, considering the fact that the order of the foreign fabric was delayed. It had been nearly a week since the King's poisoning and the announcement of her wedding, which was to be held in seven days. Her birthday, which had passed three days ago, had been a hurried affair. Not that she minded; the king had been absent and sitting next to the man she had deceived hadn't exactly been the most _entertaining_ experience she had had at a feast.

She shifted unconsciously and saw the seamstress bite her lip in concentration and frustration.

Guinevere knew that she would have to speak to Arthur on the matter of Freya. He had taken the scolding warranted from Uther over the prisoner's escape, yet he had revealed neither Merlin's nor Gwen's involvement. She had, after meeting up with him in the corridor, fully expected herself to be brought to her guardian to explain her actions. But instead, when she had timidly gone to visit the king the following morning, the monarch had not mentioned a word to her.

And neither did Arthur. When she passed him on the way to the stables later that day, he acted as if nothing had happened yet, after years of knowing him, she could see the disappointment still lingering in his eyes. The spark always lingering in his wondrous eyes whenever she was around – gone, and Guinevere felt the loss. She knew that she should go speak to him but she was, understandably, afraid of how he would receive her apology.

She didn't wish to apologize for saving an innocent life: she wished to apologize for going behind his back.

"Finished, my lady," the woman announced, stepping back to observe the bride.

The lady withheld a sigh of relief as she stepped down from the stand that the seamstress had propped her upon. Wordlessly Batilda led her behind the dressing screen, helping her into her previous gown before returning the wedding dress to the seamstress. The woman curtsied before exiting, leaving the future Queen of Camelot with the visiting Queen of Gore.

Morgana shifted the finished sheet in her hands, taking in the stitches for a moment. Gwen watched her friend silently before coming to sit by her side. Morgana had arrived a day after her birthday celebration and had been practically glued to her friend's side. She had instantly picked up on the awkwardness between her brother and his intended, and, after much prodding, Gwen had explained the situation to her. As she had expected her friend believed that she had done the right thing.

Nevertheless, Gwen withheld a detail from her story: the relationship between Merlin and Freya.

Yet it was not the relationship between Morgana and Merlin that was constantly on her mind, filling her thoughts with anxiety.

She couldn't stand having Arthur upset with her. It was bothering her far too much than she had first anticipated. Yet every time she went to go speak to him she found an excuse not to. It was becoming far too frustrating.

A page knocked at the door and, after being admitted by Batilda, bowed before the two noblewomen.

"His Majesty is awake, my ladies," he announced, bowing once more before leaving. Gwen smiled slightly at the news. She had requested earlier that morning to be notified when the king was awake. Although the toxins that had been hidden in his ale had been deemed gone, the after effects of the drink had left him rather weak. He often slept for hours at a time during the day as the slightest effort made him feel exhausted.

Pausing at the door to her chambers she turned to ask Morgana if she wished to accompany her, but was cut off mid-sentence: "I think I'll just stay and finish these," the woman said, lifting another sheet. She then gave her friend a half-smile. "There will be plenty of time for me to speak to him later."

Giving the queen a small smile the young woman nodded before ducking out of her chambers.

Once outside her grin slowly faded.

What was troubling Morgana?

She would have expected the former princess, who had been devoted to her father from an early age, to be stuck to the king's bedside. Yet besides Morgana's first tearful reunion with her father she had not ventured much to see the king. Without planning to the ward recalled the queen's icy tone when speaking of her father back in April. Maybe she was overreacting… Or maybe Morgana still blamed her father for the marriage to Gore?

Without thinking about it her feet carried her to the king's chamber, nodding at the pair of guards who admitted her into the series of rooms leading to his bedchamber.

Uther, propped up by a myriad of pillows, smiled as he caught sight of her.

"You have taken time out of your schedule to see me again?" he teased, some of the man she had first met ages ago shining through his weak exterior.

She crossed the room towards him, taking up the empty chair beside his bed. Without being asked the servant that had been folding the king's newly laundered clothing exited the room, giving the ward and king their privacy. She took one of his hands into her own, squeezing gently. "You know I always have time for you, Uncle," she said, employing the term of affection she had used on occasion when referring to her guardian.

He lifted his free hand to gently pat their encased hands.

"Arthur tells me that you have been doing remarkably well in planning the wedding. I am sorry, my dear, about the short notice."

She quickly shook her head, giving herself a distraction versus thinking about the knight.

"It is no fault of yours, my lord," she explained. "And things are going smoothly; you need not worry."

He nodded, shifting against the pillows.

"Good."

Silence reigned for a moment between the two before Uther cleared his throat.

"I am glad that you came to visit, my dear, as there is something that I wish to discuss with you."

Apprehension flared up inside of her yet she kept her expression clear.

"And what is that, my lord?"

He focused on their entwined hands for a moment as he collected his thoughts.

"You remember the late queen well, do you not?" he questioned, lifting his gaze to hers. She nodded wordlessly as a flicker of a smile darted across his face. "Queens do not just plan social events and provide heirs, Guinevere," he started, a far off look invading his eyes as he remembered his beloved. "There is so much more that the position calls for. So much that goes on beyond the sight of the courtiers."

He sighed softly, reluctantly pulling himself from his memories.

"Being king is not only a physical job in keeping the borders secure, but also an emotional task. Whether Arthur returns from a long fought battle or a heated council meeting, he will need someone to help _ground_ him. As his wife it is expected of you, but as his queen it is required."

He squeezed her hand, earnest emotion clear on his face.

"Don't let him do this alone."

Stunned she didn't speak for a moment.

Never before had she had such an intimate talk with her guardian before over her marriage, and thoroughly hadn't expected him to speak of it in this way. The death of his queen kept her from thinking that he could still be sentimental about a wife's role in her husband's life.

"I will try my best," she answered, dropping his formal title to show how genuine she was.

She wouldn't let Arthur go through ruling alone. She had seen what that had done to Uther.

A knock at the door broke the moment between the two as a page stepped silently in.

"The prince is here to see you, Your Majesty," the young man announced, bowing stiffly at the waist.

The king gave a silent nod and the page was followed a moment later by Arthur.

The blonde checked slightly at the threshold at seeing his betrothed sitting beside his father, but recovered his features a second later.

Gwen felt a tightening in her chest as she cast her eyes down to the coverlet. This rift between them had to be amended or she feared she would burst from guilt.

Uther took in the two for a brief second before shifting upon his voluminous mattress.

"I am sorry, my son, but perhaps we can speak later in the evening? I feel so tired..."

His son nodded, resting a hand against the post of his father's bed.

"If you wish, Father," he said, casting a glance at Guinevere before leaving.

Gwen gave him a fretful look before schooling her features into a smile.

"I shall visit with you later, my lord," she said, dropping his hand and kissing his temple. She exited the room, missing the look of amusement on the clearly awake king's face.

**0o0o0**

"Arthur!"

The man turned, seeing his betrothed trying to catch up to him. He reluctantly paused as she neared him.

Things had gotten awkward between them ever since Freya's escape. He had pretended like it hadn't happened on the surface, of course; he wasn't about to run to his father, betraying her trust. He hadn't even sacked Merlin, whom Uther could have easily have ordered executed for his treasonous act. Instead he simply swallowed the lie that the manservant had given him of his mother's illness and subsequent absence.

Why?

He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that the right thing had been done. Though how could he admit it? He simply couldn't go up to the council and announce that the serving girl had been innocent. He did not have the druids in custody, or whoever had propositioned Freya to bring the king his goblet. He only had had one scared young woman, who clearly didn't have it in herself to harm another being.

_Yet she had magic_.

That was cause in itself to be wary of.

He had been taught to show hatred for those with magic ever since his mother's death, and had come to associate the word with the painful memory of seeing the last glimpse of the queen's bloodless face before her tomb was closed. Yet Freya seemed the farthest thing from that terrible memory.

His chest tightened slightly as he watched Gwen tuck back a stray curl that had escaped from her plait, braided into an elegant knot. How he wished it had been his hand to touch her tresses.

"I was hoping to speak with you," she murmured, lifting her brown eyes up to his blue.

He extended his arm to her, which she took without question, prompting the two to exit the corridor and walk carefully down the nearest stairwell. They paused once on the ground floor, before Arthur led her through the stone arch leading to the gardens. They steered clear of the east beds as the gardeners were working swiftly to prepare the grounds for the upcoming wedding. Instead the future couple settled themselves among a cluster of hedges nearest to the stonewalls of the citadel.

She hesitantly brought her hand from his arm, toying with the ring on her finger. The ring given by him.

"I wish to amend this rift that has come between us," she started, finding the courage to meet his gaze.

He listened expectantly to her and, as he gave no reason for her to give up all hope, she continued.

"I truly did not wish to upset you with … my actions." She didn't even wish to speak of the event, not knowing what prying ears were about. The staff was notorious for spreading gossip, as were the courtiers. "I just thought that what I had done was right, and really I should have spoken to you about it first, but that did not work so well the first time, and then you-"

"_Guinevere_."

Her name, drawn out like that, halted her hurried speech.

The prince took a step toward her, tipping her chin up slightly so that their gazes met. "I know that it appeared as if I did not listen to you when you confronted me, but still that gave you no right to go gallivanting around like that."

He could see the ire rising in her eyes and hastily spoke to cover over her annoyance.

"I wish you had more faith in me, truly. What you said to me... it kept me from ordering that girl's execution without another thought." He sighed, reluctantly slipping his fingertips away from her warm soft skin.

She rushed a step closer. "But I do have faith in you!"

The outburst surprised the two, sending her into a blush.

She averted her gaze in order to explain, so as not to feel intimidated by his gaze, especially with the heat spreading across her cheeks.

"What I mean is, you did not send Freya to her death simply because she had magic. That one act in itself shows that you have good judgement; that you wish to seek out the truth before decreeing your judgement." Pausing she took a calming breath of the fresh air, trying not to let his proximity affected her; she had to learn to ignore it, otherwise it would prove t be a serious problem in their marriage. "I suppose… I hadn't realized that. If I had, perhaps I would have thought my actions through."

Tentatively she raised her eyes to check his expression.

"You never fail to surprise me," he admitted, taking her hand and threading it through his arm. He led her from the foliage, both feeling the tension of the past days melting away in each other's presence.

**0o0o0**

The morning of her wedding came earlier than expected.

With a groan she stubbornly kept her eyes closed despite Beatrice's quiet pleas for her to awaken. It was only Batilda's well-experienced shake on the young woman's shoulder that forced the bride to greet the day.

Lady Beatrice of Calchvynydd, one of her chosen ladies-in-waiting, allowed relief to shine across her face as the bride stood up from her bed. Gwen realized, with a jolt, that the woman had actually been afraid to physically nudge her awake. She tried to hide her surprise at the married woman and instead dutifully marched behind her dressing partition where a large wooden bathtub was being filled.

The woman – a wife of one of the councilmen in her late twenties, had truly impressed her during the interview; she a motherly aura of sorts about her that had piqued Gwen's interest.

In addition to Beatrice, Gwen had picked Eleanor and Lady Catherine Gillert to attend her. Catherine was a month older than Guinevere and daughter to one of Uther's most trusted barons. Her sometimes brash attitude reminded Gwen much of Morgana. The foster sister, who had just been on her mind, entered Gwen's bedchamber looking remarkably awake.

Remarkable as, Gwen observed glumly, the sun had yet to rise.

"Fetch the Princess' bath salts," she ordered with ease to the nearest lady – Eleanor – who quickly acquiesced to the woman's demand.

"I'm not _Princess_, yet", Guinevere grumbled into her crossed arms with a serious frown.

Without ceremony Batilda shooed the remaining women beyond the partition, leaving only Morgana in attendance.

Morgana ignored her friend's mood as she inquired: "Did you sleep at all?" reaching for a ribbon to tie back her friend's curls.

"Enough," Guinevere replied, surmising that she had managed a wink or two sometime over the course of the night. Her thoughts, her paranoia had kept her awake for far too long. She kept tossing and turning in her virginal bed, never forgetting that this was her last night as a maiden before Arthur _introduced_ her to womanhood. It didn't help that she had to be prepped for her wedding at an unreasonable hour.

Between the two women Gwen was rubbed nearly raw in record time. Wrapped in a clean sheet she was given a meagre meal of bread and cheese. She chewed silently, watching as chambermaids baled the oil- and flower-scented water from the tub.

The day that had always seemed so far off had finally come.

Fear gripped her stomach so tightly that she forced herself to take bites of bread. The next chance she would have to eat would be at the wedding banquet later that evening. Best to take advantage of the food that she could stomach now instead of being weak from hunger later.

Once the last maid had vanished with her bucket of water, Gwen was rushed into an ivory lace-chemise. She busied herself with gazing at the rising sun as Batilda and Morgana divided her hair to brush, while her ladies adorned her face with a mix of cosmetics. Her hair, unadorned to showcase her virginal status, had been conditioned in a mixture of spices and herbs the previous day.

She was allowed a quick glimpse into the polished mirror above her vanity to see the transformation that had occurred.

Her hair, resting just above her waist, shone in the early morning light. Her normal, everyday cosmetics had been given a boost by the inclusion of rouge. Faintly she realized that her cheeks had taken an ashen quality to them due to her nerves, and that the bridal anxiety had been covered by paint. Clever of them it was.

As she was helped with dressing she allowed her eyes to flit over to her friend. Morgana, always rather fair-skinned, had seemed paler than she had ever seen her; in fact not so much pale, as _green_. She had taken note of it the first day of her friend's arrival, but the woman's decisive behaviour had kept her from questioning whether she was indeed ill.

Now wasn't the time to ask her about it, though, as she was laced into her corset.

Pain shot through her abdomen as lady Beatrice pulled tight on her lacings, tighter than ever – Gwen often complained to Batilda about this, but something in Beatrice's determined look of admiration at her now _tiny_ waist, kept Guinevere from complaining this time. The lady's extremely conservative views may be somewhat too strict, but such view was extremely useful now that she was about to walk down the isle in front of the entire Camelot. Guinevere wanted to avoid scorn and make the two Pendragon men waiting by the isle to be proud of her. So she kept her mouth shut, and adjusted her breathing to slow facile shallow breaths to keep from fainting.

After she was squeezed into the appropriate shape she was helped to step into the gown. The silk slid comfortingly over her skin, almost as if in an attempt to soothe her. It did little however as she still felt her morning meal flipping in her stomach.

"You look beautiful my lady," Beatrice commented, twitching the blue cape to a better position. The woman reflected in the mirror did not seem to be her, yet Guinevere did not comment upon it.

Batilda led in her steward, Jeffrey. Having been absorbed in her thoughts she hadn't even heard him knock.

"A gift milady," he announced, bowing before lifting up the wooden box in his hands for her viewing.

Nodding to Catherine, the steward relinquished the box before bowing himself out of the room. The bride tried not to feel awkward at such treatment. She had been shown great respect as the ward of King Uther, yet this next step of deference was still unknown.

The well-polished wood felt as sleek as the silk she wore once pressed into her hands.

With her ladies gathered about her she flipped open the lid, taking in the ornate necklace inside. Her fingertips gently glided over the silver chain, the five diamonds clinging to it, and the raindrop shaped pearl at its centre.

Morgana leaned a bit closer to her in order to observe it, a wistful smile alighting her features for a moment.

"That was my mother's," she commented, her eyes remaining glued to the silver piece. "Father tucked much of it away. He must have dug it out specially for you; there is a note."

Handing off the delicate necklace and matching earrings to Batilda, Gwen unfolded the bit of parchment that had been tucked inside the box.

_This piece was a favourite of my mother's, and was a gift from my father upon their betrothal. I had thought first to give it to you then, but I thought perhaps it would be more meaningful the morning of our wedding. It would honour not only myself, but also my mother's memory greatly, if you would wear it today._

_-__ Arthur §_

Blushing, she tucked the scrap into her palm before going over to her jewellery chest.

"It is from Arthur," she managed to say, sneaking the paper into the chest so as to avoid prying eyes.

She tried to ignore the delighted giggle that Eleanor had made at such a revelation and instead swept back her curls from her neck.

"If you would, please," she asked her nurse, feeling the cool clasp of the metal upon her neck a moment later.

The weight of the ornament across her collarbone felt reassuring, as if it's previous owner was standing beside her.

"I... I think I am ready," she said, glancing at her assorted company.

She could do this.

Drifting to the window stationed to overlook the courtyard she looked down upon the hustle and bustle below.

She could do this.

At least she hoped.

**0o0o0**

Numbly she allowed herself to be escorted into the horse drawn litter waiting in the courtyard. She ducked slightly to avoid knocking off the crown of white lilies and amaranths atop her curls, baby's breath woven into her smoothed curls.

Batilda, in her best frock, climbed up after Morgana had situated herself beside Gwen. With a jolt the litter began to move, winding its way through the town to the large stone church there. For the knights and the lower barons the chapel in the citadel would have been used. Yet for a royal marriage the large structure resting in the town was the only option. As the actual wedding ceremony took place at the door to the church instead of inside it, the expanse of street about the building would provide room for spectators to see the future king take a bride.

Before she knew it they were coming to a halt a few yards beyond the path that had been cleared to the church doors. Had the ride been that fast? She willed her limbs to move yet found that she could not.

"Here."

Morgana, having kept a close eye on her friend the entire ride, gave the young woman a gentle tug on the arm. The touch seemed to have thrown some sense into Gwen as she found it in herself to move her legs in order to be helped out.

Grabbing onto the extended hand of the page waiting beyond the litter so as not to trip on the heavy silk and muslin of her gown, Gwen allowed herself a glimpse of the gathered crowd. A sea of nobles greeted her eyes as she scanned the well-dressed group. The king, smiling, took her hand from the page. Uther seemed almost back to normal yet there was tell-tale tiredness about his eye that told her differently.

"You look beautiful, my dear," he whispered to her, threading her hand through his arm. Nearly numb with nerves she could barely feel the soft material of his tunic sleeve as he led her through the path cleared by the nobles.

With shaking knees she allowed her guardian to lead her up the stone stairs to the church where Arthur stood, decked out in his chain mail and scarlet cloak. His coronet, showing to all that he was the Crown Prince, caught her attention in the morning light. She, too, would have something similar after this ceremony.

The boy she had grown up with squeezed her hand once Uther had passed her over. Taking her place at his left she held tightly onto his hand as if the limb itself was keeping her upright.

"'In faith we walk, in faith we love, and in faith we will live forevermore'..."

She found herself zoning out over the bishop's words. Even in Latin she was able to understand them thanks to the substantial education given to her by the late queen.

Thankfully Arthur was always the one to speak first as the male, prompting her to simply follow his lead. She repeated the practiced words without effort, faintly realizing that they spoke of faithfulness, subservience, the promise of heirs, and dedication to the people of Camelot. It was only the meaningful kiss upon her lips by the young man- _her husband_- before her that alerted her to the completion of the ceremony.

Applause rang out from the gathered crowd that left her with a roaring in her ears.

She vaguely realized that she had to smile and, in her haze, managed to bring a grin to her lips. The bishop, followed by Uther, led the party into the church where mass was to be celebrated.

"Gwen?"

The whispered word caught her attention in the sea of conundrum around them.

Glancing up at him by her side, she took in the clearly joyful expression of her husband. She had seen this reaction to their relationship before, on their betrothal.

Had he actually wanted this marriage? How could he? Even he for some reason was curious and interested in intercourse with her, didn't he mind the _arranged_ part of this union? Did he not have a will to choose his own mate, without the consideration of what is more profitable for the lands of Albion…

He didn't wait for her to reply and, she guessed, must have sensed her anxiety by the death grip she currently had on his arm. It truly must have been tight as he was currently wearing his mail and tunic, yet he had felt her grip atop his clothing.

His free hand came to rest upon her trembling one, covering it with his warmth.

Knowing that she wasn't alone despite being in the gaggle of courtiers, she lifted her head a bit higher and allowed him to lead her through the church.

**0o0o0**

People.

Everywhere.

Her head seemed to be spinning as she took in the numerous courtiers and visiting nobles that were strolling about the banquet hall. Were they really all here to see her and the man sitting beside her?

She kept a smile plastered to her face as noble after noble approached the dais to congratulate the pair. The faces soon turned into a blur, as did the compliments after the first few. She, normally so good with matching faces with names, was faltering when remembering who had just spoken with them.

She supposed she hadn't realized how scared she was for this to actually happen.

Yet the solid grip of the man beside her on her hand kept her grounded. Kept her from stumbling into panic.

More than once during the evening she almost caught herself reaching up a hand to check that her new coronet was truly upon her brow, despite feeling its weight. Uther had granted her the symbol of her new status before she had been led into the hall. It was considerably heavier than she had expected. Would her crown as queen be heavier? Literally and figuratively?

After what seemed like an endless line of well-wishers she was grateful when the musicians stroke up a tune.

With perhaps one of her few genuine smiles of the day Guinevere tugged upon Arthur's sleeve beneath the table.

He observed her over the rim of his wine goblet, knowing right away the silent question that she asked.

"If it pleases you, my lady," he teased, setting down his goblet and standing. Reaching for her hand he led her to the cleared floor where some of the guests were taking the newly wed couple's lead.

The musicians chose a lively song, prompting the dancers to form two lines and follow the rather simple pattern of circling about the other line. It was a fast dance and a perfect way to get out her pent up energy and nerves of the day. Before she knew it she found herself laughing, clutching onto Arthur's hand as he led her through the next turn.

The beat changed, turning into farandole. A few of the younger barons grabbed hands with a handful of maidens making an arch. The dancers, joined by their hands, weaved in and out before making circles about the floor. Her heart caught in her throat as she hurried about the floor, laughing till she could barely breathe.

Dancing had managed to loosen her up it seemed, and she found it easier to speak to the guests as she made her rounds. It certainly helped her stomach, which had been too tight earlier to attempt eating any of the grand dishes that had been paraded about. Now she tried a bit of the puddings presented, savouring the sweet tastes upon her tongue.

It was during her third round about the hall to speak to guests that she found Morgana, standing far back in the hall nursing a goblet. The woman seemed extremely fatigued and, if Gwen had guessed correctly, slightly ill. Instantly she reached over to place a hand on her friend's arm.

"Are you alright?" she asked, having no fear that her words would be overheard in the crowded hall. Her friend glanced up at her before taking a quick sweep of the hall. Without words she led the bride from the group of nobles to an empty corridor, leaving Arthur's line of sight for the first time this evening.

Not looking at her, Morgana stared down into her own goblet.

"I am with child."

The princess faltered, unsure of how to respond.

Should she congratulate her friend? It was, after all, a woman's duty to bear children.

Or should she offer condolences for what the Urien had done to her?

Instead, she took a few steps forward, embracing her sister silently. Sharing her burden of being a woman in the world of men.

**0o0o0**

As the night drew on Gwen found her earlier relaxed state of mind turning into anxiety once more. She knew the reason, yet refused to dwell upon it. After all, the party would end at some point. And once the conundrum of courtiers disappeared, all that would be left would be her, Arthur and the awaiting marriage bed.

She shouldn't have been surprised as the hours dragged close to midnight when certain members of the nobility began to grow restless.

"Bedding!"

It only took one cry from a certain son of a certain baron for the word to be echoed among a few more inebriated guests. Men _and_ women sprung to their feet as if they were about to ride out for a hunt; and she was the prey; and Arthur was the hunter in the lead.

Gwen looked up from her lap, where she had hidden her tear-pricking reaction to the word, to observe the guests. Women courtiers, who she knew whispered gossip behind her back, judging her and deeming her an unworthy Queen, could now openly demand a display of her humiliation. She has heard that in some cases the bride was stripped bare, not even by her new husband, but by the female guests and then was pushed and held down on the bed while the groom climbed on top…

She blinked, feeling sick with dread at the thought of this public violation. How was this legal when rape was not? The only difference was that as a bride, she would have to endure the remainder of her life with the man who violated her.

Then again, she knew Arthur was not a cruel man. Of course, he probably didn't exactly look forward to such a mating, he was not a deviant. It was unfair of her to judge him thus…

It would be over quick, wouldn't it? Quick, meaningless, and then hopefully he wouldn't bother her for some time.

Right.


	20. Chapter 19

AN: Beta-ed by the awesome Guardian Izz. She has been such a great help with this entire story and I really don't think I would have been able to finish this without her. She edited this chapter largely as I am a bit awkward with intimate scenes. You should have seen this before she stepped in...

But anyway, I have never finished a full length fic before and I'm rather excited. Thank you all for sticking with me, and I hope you follow me onto "The Wife". The first chapter of that should be posted in three weeks, and will be posted on Fridays as this has been.

As you can see I updated this to "M", and "The Wife" will also have that rating.

Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Merlin".

The bride felt as if the castle walls were shaking around her as her childhood nurse led her through the corridors from the great hall. Her ladies trailed behind her, as did some of the highest ranking women of the court. She could still hear the sounds of the revelers reverberating in her head as the small group began the path to her new bridal chambers. Why wasn't the ground beneath her staying still? She looked down at the hem of her beautiful wedding gown seeing the satin line of the fabric dance around her shaking legs. She could have laughed at her own stupidity; her shaking was causing her to feel as if the very world was jumping up and down. Yet her moment of amusement was quickly banished as they approached the chamber door.

Guinevere held onto the Batilda's arm for support in order to keep herself from falling.

The nurse pushed open the door before ushering her former charge inside. The chambers that she was to share with Arthur had been finished only the week earlier. The king's stone-cutters had been hard at work engraving the two initials into the mantle and various other places about the room. She had run her fingertips over the raised letters the first time she had seen them, thinking of the well worn 'U' and 'I' that still adorned Uther's chambers.

The pair each had their own receiving room, sitting room, and bathing chamber. The sitting rooms were connected by their bed chamber.

There was little conversation to be had as Batilda and some of the other ladies helped her from her elaborate silks into a nightgown.

It was recently finished by the castle's seamstresses, with a decorative lacing sewn at the neckline. Gwen shrugged on a dressing robe before placing herself on a chair near the fire, her hands in her lap. Holding back a sigh of relief at being clothed and not having to disrobe before all these strangers, she kept quiet to observe. She watched as the woman who had come to replace her mother nearly flew about the room, fluffing pillows and doing some last minute tidying.

The noblewomen whispered amongst themselves, a few of the more motherly ones coming over to gently brush her hair and give her words of encouragement.

Bedding ceremonies were common among noble marriages. The bride and groom would be led to their respective chambers to be dressed in their nightclothes before being presented to each other. What followed was normally a blessing by a priest, placing the two into bed, and leaving them to fulfill the marriage act. Or, in some cases, the highest ranking members of the court stuck around for the actual consummation, to make sure that the bride had been untouched at the time of her wedding.

She sincerely hoped that the ceremony would not include the second scenario.

Laughter could be heard from Arthur's sitting room, where no doubt the more drunken guests were teasing the Crown Prince. Noticeable even through the walls was the drunken giggle of his manservant; Merlin never could hold his liquor. Her cheeks, if possible, paled further. The door to the next room over opened yet, instead of seeing the men surrounding Arthur, she only saw the king and bishop leading the knight. He, too, was dressed in a heavy night robe.

The women quieted as the king approached them, the bishop already taking his station before the turned down bed.

"I thank you for your service to the Princess Guinevere," the king said, nodding to a few of the women in the room.

"Yet if you would please leave us, it would be greatly appreciated."

A few held barely hidden looks of surprise while the younger ones seemed a bit relieved. One by one they exited her room, Batilda hanging back a moment to embrace her now former charge.

"Just appearing willing and tw'ill be over soon," she whispered to her, pressing a kiss to her temple before leaving.

Gwen stood from her chair, reluctantly taking a step or two toward the king. He reached over with a fatherly hand, patting her head lightly before nodding to the bishop to begin.

Throughout the man's prayers Gwen chanced glances over at Arthur, to check his reaction. He seemed, surprisingly, emotionless as the bishop continued.

Who had been the one to suggest that the affair be more private than normally? Had it been the king, who knew her behavior by now? Or had it been the prince, who knew how timid she could be involving intimate matters?

Reluctantly she swung her legs into bed, taking up the right side while the blonde man took the left.

She bowed her head in thanks to the holy man who, after a nod from the king, left the three alone.

Uther observed the two that he had seen grow from children, smiling slightly.

"Goodnight," was all he said, taking a moment to squeeze Arthur's shoulder before following the bishop out.

Silence remained between the two for a few moments as they sat in the suddenly awkward bed.

Possibilities swam before her eyes. Perhaps Arthur would be too tired to do anything that night. Or maybe, like her, he would be too awkward to consummate the union. Of course having heard something of his reputation among ladies the prince would doubtfully reject a woman given to him. And if the rumors around court were true then he had nothing to be embarrassed about. She blushed at the very thought of his muscular body bare before her eyes.

"You look … wonderful," his remark came as a whisper. She jumped, having not realized that he had turned to her. There was some sort of recognition in his eye that she didn't understand. Of course she wouldn't; she hadn't known that he had seen her in her nightdress before, months earlier when he had gone to speak to her in the early morning.

"Thank you," she said, unsure of what to say in response to the awed twinkle in his blue eyes.

His sword-hardened hand reached for her as her eyes scanned the room for a reason to withdraw.

"It is terribly warm in here, isn't it?" she questioned, trying to keep her tone from sounding shrill as she threw back the blankets.

His hand caught empty air as she stood up from the bed, crossing the room to where a pitcher of ale had been set out for the two. She poured herself a goblet with trembling hands, wondering how she hadn't managed to spill any.

With a soft sigh he slipped from the bed, coming to join her and pouring himself a portion.

Gwen sipped from the goblet slowly and focused on the fireplace, watching the flames dancing in the hearth rather than those reflected in his eyes. His beautiful eyes were a feature she always admired growing up, but lately the emotions and intensity reflected in the pools of blue caused her to try to avoid them.

"The feast was a success. Your father seemed to have approved."

He didn't attempt to answer.

She took another sip of the wine, followed by another not looking up at him as he came closer.

She heard him sigh softly as he set down his goblet. "Guinevere..."

She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath as she reluctantly placed her own goblet next to his, finally lifting up her face to view him. He observed her features with such intensity that she couldn't look away. She couldn't even blink at the shimmer of tenderness in his eyes. Or was the candlelight playing tricks upon her?

His strong hand gently touched her cheek as he lowered his head to kiss her.

Again she felt that rush of something akin to excitement and fear run through her as his lips grazed hers, much as she had felt when he had first kissed her.

His other hand cradled the back of her head, and the feel of his palm buried in her curls was almost comforting. To her own surprise she felt her hands come to rest on his shoulders. It wasn't until she felt the back of her knees hit the edge of the four poster bed that she realized he had been walking her backwards all this time. She withdrew from his lips for a moment, a gasp escaping her as she thought that she would fall back.

For a minute he steadied her and the newlyweds held each other's gaze. In the next moment she felt his hands on her shoulders and then her silk robe slipped down her arms as it fell to the carpeted floor, the fabric pooling at her bare feet. His eyes ventured down as she was left standing in nothing but her ivory nightgown with her slim olive toned figure flashing through.

Her breathing quickened as the man deemed her husband gently lowered her backwards and observed how her dark curls covered the white sheets.

Something akin to panic settled within Gwen's stomach as she shyly watched him shed his own robe to the ground. Her cheeks grew warm as she took in his torso - bare to her for the first time. His skin paler than hers reflected the shadows, as their darkness caressed his muscular torso. She could not look away even if she tried.

"I am not made of glass," he teased softly leaning down to hover over her. He picked up one of her small hands in his before placing it on the planes of his chest, over his beating heart. It took her a moment before she found the will to move it. Her fingertips ghosted over his chest, marveling at the powerful strength she could almost feel within her husband as he brought his lips to hers once more, less gently this time. Vaguely she noted his hands running down her sides, she felt him tugging at her nightgown almost impatiently and then one of his palms was sliding up her leg, the fabric of her gown bunched up to her hips.

At first he moved his golden head and his lips were busy exploring her exposed neck, suckling and kissing her sensitive skin, sending trembles down her spine. She sighed softly, lifting her head to give him better access. Her hands, looking so small against his back, gripped him a bit tighter. Instantly shame washed over her. No man had seen her in such a state and to suddenly have someone see her like this made her feel as if she was doing something wrong. But then, he was her husband now and if anyone was allowed to see what lay beneath her clothing it was him; he was the only one.

He murmured something soothing against her skin but, caught up in her own anxiety, she failed to comprehend it.

His hands moved to untie the laces of her gown yet her own moved to stop him. The pair held each others' gazes for a moment: relinquished lust meeting apprehension. His blue eyes were so dark for a moment she did not recognize the prince she grew up with. He almost reminded her of an animal that she's once seen in dark woods at night. He looked on the verge of something, almost as if possessed until finally his gaze softened and she recognized the sapphire twinkle. Mercifully he left her upper half clothed.

Arthur's lips seemed to reluctantly move back to her neck and shoulders, running his hands up her sides. A growing excitement welled in her stomach. Was this what consummation felt like, like your husband's touch consumed your very being and left you breathless? Guinevere felt ashamed at the anxious feeling now rooted within her. As a lady she was always told how only loose women got to enjoy the touch of men, as these men were usually unfaithful husbands to their wives, who never got to experience how soft their spouses' hands could be. But here she was, his wife and yet his strong hands applied nothing but gentle caresses. And the force used only caused more trembling on her part.

Hovering above her his hand took hold of hers and guided it lower and lower still till it reached the v shaped line at his hipbone. Nervous but not completely oblivious she fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, hearing him chuckle against her skin. Determination filled her, as it often had during their childhood when he teased her, causing her to steel her fingers and successfully untie the laces.

The sensation of his lips on hers was something alike a drug, like wine, growing more potent and mind numbing over time. Confidence grew in her as she felt him begin to slide out of his pants feeling, for the first time, his bare legs against her own. Save for her wrinkled nightgown gathered at her hips they were fully naked.

Her hands grew more and more confident and threaded themselves through his hair.

The full length of his bare body pressed against hers and she felt his knee part her legs. Arthur looked down straight into her eyes. Not looking down she felt him now settle between her thighs, her nightgown pushed up a bit higher. His lips returned to hers, fully knowing that such a feeling was enough to distract her. Suddenly she could fully feel him against her, the hardness that Batilda faintly described was now pressed against her inner thigh.

His hands, surprisingly gentle, drifted over her fully covered breasts. The feeling itself was abnormal, as no male had done it before.

She felt herself stiffen, which alerted Arthur to her concern. "Shh, princess..." he soothed.

Her bravado drained out of her. Instantly she thought back to her talk with Morgana. The pain Morgana described. What's worse she could not imagine how he would _fit_ and she dared not imagine, knowing that such detailed thoughts were sinful for a woman of her station. She would probably have to stay in bed the following day, unable to walk.

Arthur pulled back enough to observe her, holding her face in his hands as they locked gazes. She trusted Arthur but feared her husband and now they were one and the same man.

"I...I'm sorry for the pain," he apologized, pushing back her curls in a soothing matter. She wordlessly nodded, closing her eyes tightly. His lips dipped down to hers in an attempt to distract her. Yet the odd feeling of being entered wasn't something that could be easily disguised, even by his passionate kisses.

He settled one of his hands on her hip and with his lips still pressed against her own with one swift motion he broke through her hymen and took her virginity.

"Mhm!" She stiffened at the sensation, biting back a cry at the ensuing pain. His hands smoothed her sides, her shoulders in an attempt to bring comfort to her. The stinging pain did not block out the feeling of him rooted inside of her, especially when he resumed his movements.

His head now settled near her neck, sucking and kissing her olive toned skin. Guinevere could hear his hard breathing settling an even pace, almost as if he was running. His hands gripped her hips and waist holding her in place as he then buried his head in her hair spilled across the pillows.

Despite their ardent kissing she couldn't help but think how embarrassing this actually was. She could feel their sweat mixing between their bodies and all she wanted was to desperately clean herself. Questions filled her mind. Vaguely she began to wonder when it would be over. Hadn't he satisfied his pleasures yet?

Slowly the feeling of pain lessened despite his continuous movements above her. She tried to think of anything but what was happening but when one of his hands came to once again fumble with her breast her grip on his back tightened and she pulled herself even closer to him. Her chest pressed against his own; their hearts beating together.

By impulse Guinevere hooked one of her legs around hip and in response he took a hold of her thigh and held onto it as he quickened his movements, now almost frantic. It felt as if he was trying to reach for something but she did not understand what that was. The movement seemed much more comfortable this way, even better. Then he was hovering above her again but what she saw frightened her. His eyes were darker than before and he was breathing harshly. His repetitive movements became harder with each stroke, and she shut her eyes and rolled her head backwards.

The stinging returned but the pain was different, it felt as if something was building up inside of her. _Was it pleasure?_But as quickly as that moment of enjoyment appeared, it was extinguished as with two final strokes she felt him reach his stiffen and spill his seed within her womb. Her eyes flew open at the sensation of it and for a second Guinevere felt as if they were one whole…

She felt used, flushed and exhausted as he rested on top of her, his hands still on her hips. Gwen stiffened at the feeling of him extracting himself. Arthur touched his forehead to hers, both of them covered in a slight sheen of perspiration. He lay next to her and his hands came to touch hers playing with her fingers.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, the room suddenly silent except for the crackling of the fire.

She quietly assessed her body, nodding after a moment. "I think so." No longer afraid but still apprehensive she did not dare to look him in the eye. Guinevere went to move her hips, wincing at the movement.

Well, maybe not.

He smiled gently, carefully pulling her closer to him once he had reclined against the bed. Arthur stroked her hair to comfort her as Gwen rested her head against his chest.

Their intimacy was undeniable. She expected it to be a stiff quick coupling but this night was nothing like she had anticipated. Would it still be possible to go back to being friends after this?

Well, at least the consummation was completed and it would probably not happen again for some time. There were so many noblewomen that sought his attentions daily. If anything they would be more skillful bed partners compared to her clumsy approach. Yet those fleeting moments of enjoyment- it had to have been pleasure- confused her. Would she feel that every time? Was that what he felt? Abashedly she wondered if it would last longer next time for her.

Guinevere was well aware of the prince's past indiscretions. She knew that the devotion her parents had shared was rare and did not expect Arthur to be faithful; in fact she expected the opposite. She only hoped that he would keep a compassionate regard for her and that they remained companions throughout their marriage. Yet she could not help but feel melancholic at the thought of this fate. A marriage based on friendship was better than the contempt, which Morgana shared with her spouse, but still it was not the same as a marriage filled with love.

As she drifted of Guinevere failed to see the faint wistful smile on her husband's face as he wrapped his arms tightly around her fragile body.


End file.
